by P. T. Hylton
He almost cried with relief when he saw Brett’s Chevy Malibu parked in front of the bank downtown. Its back seat was stuffed with clothes and boxes. Frank pulled in next to it and got out. He leaned against the back of Brett’s car and waited.
Brett walked out of the bank ten minutes later, carrying a backpack slung over one shoulder. Brett slowed when he saw Frank. The color drained from his face, but he recovered quickly, forced a smile, and kept walking.
“Hey man,” Brett said. “A little early for you isn’t it?”
Frank put on a smile of his own. “I couldn’t sleep. I kept having this weird feeling like there was something I needed to do this morning.”
“Cool,” Brett said. “We still on for poker tonight? Maybe we can see if Jake and Christine are free?”
“I don’t think that’s gonna happen, buddy.” Frank nodded toward the backpack. “You might have packed up during the night, but I knew you’d have to wait until the bank opened to get those. That was a mistake. What are they worth? Two grand?”
Brett shrugged. The smile was gone. “Sentimental value, I guess.” His grandfather’s coin collection was one of the few things Brett had been able to keep in the divorce. He was immensely proud of it. He kept it in a safety deposit box at the bank, but he talked about it constantly. Frank knew he wouldn’t leave town without it.
Frank stood up straight and crossed his arms. “I only have one question. Was this a spur of the moment thing? Or have you been planning this?”
“I’m not going to lie to you. It was a little of both. I’d been thinking about it for a while and last night I saw my opportunity.”
“Damn dude, that’s cold. How’d you get the guitar case out?”
“I slipped it out the bedroom window. I came back and got it later after you went to bed.”
“What are you gonna do with a bunch of puzzle locks anyway?” Frank asked.
“This dude approached me, and offered me some cash for your locks.”
Frank paused. Who would want his locks? A competitor? “How much?”
“They offered me five grand.”
Frank stepped forward. He was close to Brett now, only a few feet away. Within arm’s reach.
“That’s it?” Frank asked. “Five grand? You sold me out for five grand?”
Brett stepped up to Frank. “I was leaving town anyway. I needed a little more cash. But don’t act like we’re lifelong buddies. We’ve known each other what, six months? And you’ve looked down on me the whole time. You’ve always thought I was pathetic.”
“Give me the case and I won’t call the police,” Frank said. “I’m gonna beat the piss out of you either way, but I won’t call the police.”
“I’m not giving you the case. I’m getting my money and leaving town.”
Frank looked away for a moment and took a deep breath. How many times had Brett been in his home? How long had he been planning to betray Frank? “You don’t understand what’s happening here. I caught you. You are not leaving my sight until you give me the case.”
Brett chuckled. “No, you don’t understand. You want to live your weird little bohemian lifestyle in the mountains making artisan locks or whatever, go right ahead. Live your hippie dreams. I don’t want to live like that. I had a great life, and I want to make a new one. I’m leaving, so get out of my way.”
He shoved Frank. Frank stumbled back two steps and caught himself on the side view mirror of Brett’s car. He straightened himself to his full height and glared at Brett, with his middle age beer gut and that stupid backpack over his shoulder.
Frank lunged forward and drove his fist into Brett’s stomach. Brett’s breath left him with a whoosh, and he doubled over. The backpack slipped off his shoulder and hit the ground with a thud, and a dozen coins tumbled out of the bag and clinked onto the pavement. One of them fell against Frank’s right foot.
Frank glanced down at the coin. He paused, then looked at it a little harder. The coin was different than any currency Frank had ever seen. It didn’t feature the face of a historical figure. It didn’t display an eagle or the Statue of Liberty. This coin featured a different symbol—a broken clock.
Frank found it hard to look away from the coin. It held his gaze like a vise. It was suddenly hard to concentrate. Frank felt dizzy.
He heard Brett moan, and the coin’s spell was broken. Frank looked up at Brett, and he felt a fury like none he had ever known before. A single punch to the stomach? That wasn’t enough punishment for what Brett had done. Not nearly enough.
Frank looked to his left and there in the bed of his truck was his tire iron.
Frank picked up the tire iron, gripping it with both hands. The iron felt cold against his skin and the weight of the thing in his hand was pleasant. He raised the tire iron and brought it down hard on Brett’s back.
Brett collapsed, groaning as he wriggled on the ground. After a moment, he rolled onto his side and looked up at Frank, his body rigid with pain.
Frank shifted the tire iron to one hand. He raised it over his head.
“No!” shouted Brett. “Wait! I’ll tell you where it is. Just put that thing down!” He twisted onto his back and crab-walked backwards through the parking lot. Frank followed, not hurrying, the tire iron still raised above his head. Brett looked pathetic scooting across the blacktop like that. Frank felt numb and cold.
Brett backed onto the grass next to the parking lot, and kept going until he bumped against a sign. ‘Grayson Park: Hours 7am-7pm.’ Brett pushed himself up, using the sign for support. He held out of a hand in front of him as if to keep Frank at arm’s length.
Frank felt a fresh wave of anger flow through him. He reached back with the tire iron, then brought it around hard. It crashed into Brett’s temple, rocking his head to the side like it was on a hinge. Brett fell to the ground and moaned. After some time—Frank had no idea how long—he noticed the moaning noises had stopped. Brett wasn’t moving.
Frank stood over Brett, the tire iron still clutched in his hand, for what felt like hours. Eventually he heard someone scream, and a little while later, he heard a voice yelling at him to drop the weapon, to drop it or they would shoot. He absently wondered what they were talking about, and then he noticed the tire iron in his hand. It was sticky with blood.
With a great effort, Frank uncurled the fingers of his left hand. The tire iron fell to the ground with a clang.
The screaming voices told him to put his hands on his head, and he did. They told him to drop to his knees, and he did that, too. Then they were on top of him, throwing him to the ground. He felt handcuffs click on his wrists and wondered how long it would take him to escape from them if he wanted to. He didn’t want to, though. He wanted to lie there and die.
He looked over and saw his old friend Sean. Sean looked upset, and Frank wondered if he was having a bad day.
By the time they put him into the police car, Frank was starting to come back to himself. He didn’t fully understand what he had done—not yet—but he couldn’t stop hearing the meaty thud of the tire iron hitting Brett’s skull, feeling the jar of the impact in his hand, and seeing Brett’s dead face.
CHAPTER FIVE: THE CASSANDRA LOCK
1.
If Frank had any sense, he would have headed to Sean's. Sean lived within walking distance, he lived alone, and—best of all—Sean would take him in no questions asked. But Frank wasn't going to Sean's.
The other option was to head for the edge of town, just step over the town line and let the Unfeathered have him. The board of selectmen weirdos wanted him to find Jake, and he was starting to think maybe that was exactly what happened to his brother. Why not join Jake? But that wasn't where he was going, either.
As he walked, the spaces between homes grew larger and larger until the road was flanked with pine trees and there was not a house in sight. He stepped off the gravel and felt the pleasant crunch of pine needles under his feet. He would approach the cabins from the back and hope for the element of surp
rise. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for and he didn't know exactly where to look. All he knew was that Will and Christine were hiding something out here. Whatever it was, it had to be important. They had allowed the most feared family in town to live there, which – Frank had to admit – was a pretty ingenious tactic to keep people away. Frank had a terrible, growing suspicion that Will and Christine knew more about Jake’s disappearance than they were admitting.
The beginnings a plan were forming in Frank's head. To call it a plan was probably too grand—call it an approach. Combined with a little luck and his reputation as a convicted killer, it might be enough to get him through the night. Frank knew that he would have to take out Ty first. His best bet was to deal with the big man rather than to leave him running around to muck things up later.
Frank paused when he came within sight of the dull light of the cabins. He crouched behind a tree and scanned the yard until he found what he was looking for. A thick dog chain staked to the ground. The chain would serve nicely in the dual role of weapon and potential tool of restraint. The presence of a dog was a little worrisome. The Hansens didn’t seem like the type of family who would have a dog that was prone to licking strangers rather than biting them. It hadn’t started barking yet, which was a good sign. Frank hoped the dog wasn’t in Ty’s cabin.
He waited, shrouded in the darkness and security of the familiar pine trees, until the lights clicked off in each of three occupied cabins—first the one on the left, then the right, then the middle. He stayed in his spot for what felt like an hour after that, then made his move.
Frank ran to the chain and unhooked it from the stake. He shuffled to his old cabin and crouched in front of it, his eyes an inch above the level of the porch floorboards. There were two rickety old wooden chairs on the porch, and a small table with a mason jar half full of an unidentified liquid. It might have been tea, whiskey, or tobacco spit—it was too dark to tell.
His approach was a bit juvenile, but he was beyond trying to cook up cool plans. He was flying solely on instinct. He crept up the porch steps and paused at the door. He stood up to his full height and brought the chain to his chest. He took a deep breath and rapped on the door hard three times—rat tat tat. He turned and pressed his back against the wall next to the door.
Frank heard the heavy thud of footsteps inside. A light switched on. Its glow flowed out of the windows into the night, fading a few feet to Frank’s left.
Good, thought Frank. Let him ruin his night vision.
The cabin door creaked open, and a huge shadow spilled out onto the porch. Frank stood statue still, trying not to breathe.
“Who’s out here?”
Conflicting waves of excitement and terror crashed through Frank. The voice was low, slow, and relatively youthful. It was Ty’s voice.
“You hear me? Who’s out here?”
The door opened a bit further, and the hulking form appeared in the doorway. Frank saw the big man’s hands and grew the tiniest bit calmer. Ty’s hands were empty. His uncle and father would have answered the door with a shotgun in hand, but Ty was used to his physical size being enough to dominate most situations.
Moment of truth. Frank gripped the chain in both hands and waited to see what would happen next. Either Ty would step inside and Frank would have to knock again, or Ty would step out a little further. Frank allowed himself a long slow breath. He would need all the oxygen he could get in just a moment.
“I know you’re out here.” Ty took one step forward. “Better speak up before—”
Frank moved in fast, swinging the chain like a jump rope up and over Ty’s head. He pulled both ends as hard as he could, and Ty staggered toward him.
Frank cursed. He had meant for the chain to wrap around Ty’s neck, but he had underestimated the size of the man. The chain had caught Ty around the shoulders. Still, Frank had knocked him off balance. Frank kept pulling, and the big man tumbled to the ground with a shout.
Frank pounced on the downed man’s back. He pulled both ends of the chain hard, tightening it across Ty’s chest. Ty groaned in surprise and pain. Frank held his grip. Ty’s hand closed around Frank’s ankle and he pulled, sending Frank spinning to the ground. Frank hit the ground hard and lost both his wind and his grip on the chain.
He rolled onto his side and dragged himself to his feet, straining to force enough air into his lungs. Ty rose much faster. The big man was up while Frank still struggled to get his feet under him. Ty grabbed Frank by the collar and slammed his back against the wall of the cabin. The big man held Frank there, Frank’s feet dangling off the ground.
Ty squinted at him in the darkness. “Who are you?”
Frank tried to speak, but only a cough escaped. Ty slammed him against the wall again, and the cabin rattled.
“Who are you? Talk!”
“I—I—” Frank tried to speak, but he wasn’t having much luck. He wasn’t sure what he would have said anyway.
“Do you know who I am?” Ty asked. “Do you have any idea how bad you just screwed up?”
“I—” Frank said, and he slammed his knee into Ty’s crotch. The big man released Frank and doubled over. Frank landed and staggered, putting one hand on the wall for balance. Ty raised his head and started to straighten. His face looked an impossible shade of red in the light coming through the cabin window.
Frank threw three quick jabs into Ty’s face. He aimed for the nose and connected solidly on two of the three punches. He heard something snap on the last punch. Ty moaned and staggered backwards.
Frank reached down and snatched the chain off the ground. He spun it over his head, getting its speed up until it whistled through the air, then he flicked his wrist and the end of the chain slammed into the side of Ty’s head with a crack.
Frank pulled back the chain, once again holding each of the ends in one hand.
Ty raised his bloodied face, let out a howl of fury, and charged. The big man ran on pure rage. His eyes had to be filled with tears from that busted nose. Frank ducked under Ty’s outstretched arms, got behind him, and threw the chain over his head. This time, he didn’t miss the neck.
He put his knee against Ty’s back and pulled on the chain until the big man sank to his knees. Frank eased the pressure on the chain a little. He didn’t want Ty to pass out, but he couldn’t have him getting loose either.
“Jerry sends his regards,” Frank said. “I spent the last few years with him inside. Nice guy. We all called him the Newg. Doesn’t like you much, though.”
“I’ll…rip...your...head…”
Frank tightened the chains, cutting off Ty’s words. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Anyway, I’m here about something else.” Frank couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Ty. One minute the guy is asleep in his bed; the next he has a broken nose and is being choked with a chain. Frank couldn’t work up too much sympathy, though. According to the Newg, Ty Hansen had done worse than this to less deserving folk. Much worse.
Ty uttered another frustrated groan.
Frank glanced toward the two cabins to the north, wondering if they had heard the fight. He knew from personal experience how well sound carried here, how thin the walls of the cabins were. He had heard more than he wanted to of Christine and Jake carrying on back in the day.
Frank said, “Let’s go inside. This is going to be a little awkward, but I think we can do it. Get up.”
Frank eased the tension on the chain a little, allowing Ty to stand. Frank’s comfort level dropped as Ty straightened to his full height. He was one big guy. Frank was six feet tall, and Ty had a good six inches on him. He was solid too, built like a big NFL linebacker. It was a miracle the guy hadn’t crushed him already.
Frank steered Ty, using the chain like a horse’s bridle. The big man shuffled forward and awkwardly opened the screen door.
“Easy,” Frank said. They walked through the door, and Frank guided him to the kitchen. “Kneel down there. By the radiator.”
“You...gonna
…kill me?” croaked Ty.
“No, not unless you make me. I have some questions for you. And I can’t have you punching me while I’m asking. Put your arms by your side.” He took a deep breath and slid the chain off Ty’s neck and down around his midsection. He pulled chain tight, pinning Ty’s arms to his sides.
Before Frank had gotten into locks, he had been fascinated by knots, and he knew some good ones. He threaded the chain around the radiator and tied a constrictor knot. There was no way Ty would get out of that one. Frank wasn’t even sure how he would release Ty when this was over.
With the pressure off his neck, Ty fell forward and coughed violently.
“Take all the time you need,” Frank said. “Get some air. Let me know when you’re ready.” Frank walked over to wall and flipped off the light switch. It was better to do this kind of thing in the dark.
Ty’s coughing fit subsided. “You stupid piece of shit. You broke my nose. I’m gonna kill you.”
“Not today,” Frank said. “Today you are gonna answer my questions, or I’m gonna to beat you even bloodier.”
Ty’s big silhouette quiver, either with anger or the strain of trying to catch his breath, Frank didn’t know which.
“Good answer,” Frank said. “I know Christine Hinkle is hiding something out here. What is it?”
Ty smiled. “Osmond.”
“What?”
“It’s Christine Osmond now. She hooked up with that teacher pretty quick after your brother lit out, didn’t she?” Ty spit some blood onto the floor. “Didn’t I beat up you and your brother after a football game once?”
“Thanks for reminding me. I was starting to think I might have been too hard on you. Let’s get back on topic. What’s Christine hiding?”
“Sorry, man. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Frank kicked Ty, connecting with the big man’s side, and Ty screamed in pain and rage. Frank’s eyes flickered toward the window, toward the other cabins. They remained dark.
