Widowmakers: A Benefit Anthology of Dark Fiction

by James Newman Benefit Anthology

  Again, internal alarms are sounding. A brief wave of dizziness passes over me as I wonder what I’ve gotten into. “Wait, wait, how do you know there won’t be someone in there with him?” I ask.

  “Is Melinda gonna be over there tonight?” Wylie asks.

  “Hell, no!”

  “Neither is Cherine. And that’s all I need to know.”

  I get a glass from the cupboard, fill it with ice water at the refrigerator door and take a few long, hard gulps. “What do you need me for, Wylie?”

  “Need you? I don’t need you. I’m doing this no matter what. If you think I’m gonna let that son of a bitch get himself a high-priced attorney and squeak by with probation and some counseling, you’re outta your fuckin’ mind. I thought you’d feel the same way. I thought you’d want to know what he was doing with your daughter. Hell, I thought you’d want to help me with this. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have brought it up.”

  I don’t want to say it. It sounds so weak, so cowardly. But it is real, something I cannot ignore, so I say it, anyway. “Wylie, no one wants to hurt that guy more than I do, I swear. But if I get caught…I’ve got Renee and Melinda to take care of. I can’t do this if there’s a chance—”

  Wylie laughs hard, shaking his head. “Renee makes more money with her realty business than you do teaching—whatta you mean, you’ve got Renee and Melinda to take care of?”

  As he laughs some more, I have an urge to punch him right in the face. It was a rotten thing to say, but my anger diminishes quickly. Too many other things eating at me, I guess.

  Wylie finishes off his orange juice. “You don’t have to worry about that. Won’t happen.”

  “You don’t know that. You can’t.”

  He sets his empty glass on the counter hard and steps close to me. “I can’t prove it to you, no. But I know it. You’ll just have to trust me. If that’s something you can’t do… well, I thought we were friends, Clark, but maybe I was wrong.”

  I am surprised and touched, and feel a pang of guilt for not feeling the same way about him. I put a hand on his shoulder and say, “No, of course not, Wylie, you’re not wrong about that.”

  “I mean, you’re the only one I told, for cryin’ out loud. I didn’t tell the Hentoffs or the Griffens, and their daughters are on that website. So’s the Elliott girl. I figured you and me, we could take care of it for everybody, and they wouldn’t have to know. And even if we get nailed, Clark—and that’s not gonna happen, I’m tellin’ ya—but if we do, the shit’s gonna land on me, not you. What the hell have you done? All you’re gonna do is keep Tofu Boy occupied for a while. I’m the one employing the services of a known criminal. I’m the one playin’ with fire here, no pun intended.” He puts an arm around me, leads me out of the kitchen and to the front door. “You got nothin’ to worry about, Clark. You have my word. Now go home and do whatever it is you do. You started preparing for classes this fall yet?”

  “I started doing that six weeks ago,” I mutter.

  He opens the door. “Then you’ve probably got work to do, huh? Just go home and keep busy till I give you a call, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say, stepping through the door. “See you later.” I cross the street in a kind of daze, wondering what happened to my life. I had it just yesterday and it was perfectly fine.

  4.

  Every summer, I wonder why the hell I live in Redding, California. The summers are miserably hot, and each one seems worse than the last. With August just starting, the worst is yet to come. It’s too hot to cook indoors, so summer evenings always smell of meat cooking on grills in the open air.

  It is muggier than usual this evening. There is no breeze. The air feels clenched.

  “I don’t understand why I have to do this,” Melinda whines as we start across the street together. “Can’t I stay home and eat a sandwich, or something?”

  My voice is tense as I say, “We’re going to eat, you can visit with Cherine and Erica, and then we’ll go home. I don’t want to hear any complaints. And don’t even ask if you can go anywhere, because you can’t.”

  “I wasn’t going to—okay, what’d I do?” Melinda asks as we start up Wylie’s steep driveway. “How come you’re so pissed at me. Am I being punished?”

  “Watch your language,” Renee says.

  “You’re not being punished. Yet. But tonight, we need to talk.”

  Melinda stops walking and I turn to her. She looks at me with dread.

  “Talk about what?” she asks.

  “We’ll talk about it tonight, at home. Come on.” That will give her something to chew on for a while. She’ll be so busy trying to figure out what I’m talking about, she won’t have time to get into trouble.

  The only guests to arrive before us are Monica and Phil Halprin. Chick Teklenburg is nowhere to be seen. Wylie greets us loudly, then beckons me over to the barbecue, where he stands in a bib apron that reads “Kiss My Skillet!” on the front.

  It’s a standard Weber kettle-style barbecue. None of those lame-assed gas barbecues for Wylie. At barbecues past, he has proudly claimed the title Master of the Charcoal Briquette. But not this evening. He curses the briquettes as he replaces the lid.

  “I invited the Morgans and Elliots,” he says, “but the Morgan boy’s having a pool party for his birthday, and the Elliots are helping out. They’re probably gonna burn down the neighborhood with those damned torches. People like that even scare the hell out of Ricky.”

  Wylie refers to the Tiki torches the Morgans have been lighting up in their back yard two or three times a week since the luau they threw back in June.

  “Why isn’t he here yet?” I ask.

  “Don’t worry, it’s early.”

  “Where’s Ricky?”

  “In the kitchen cuttin’ up carrots and celery.”

  My heart skips a beat. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. What, you think he can’t cut up carrots and celery?”

  “No, I mean, why is he here? Shouldn’t he be out of sight, waiting for—”

  “Would you just calm down? Everything’s cool. Jeez, look at you, you look like Don Knotts in Godzilla.” He laughs. “There’s nothing to worry about, Clark, I mean it. You wanna know when you can worry? When I get worried. Then you can worry. Can I get you a beer?”

  I take a couple deep breaths, trying to calm myself. My veins are already pumping with adrenalin and nothing has happened yet. “Yeah, a beer sounds good,” I say, but quickly backtrack. “No, wait…are you drinking tonight, Wylie? No offense, but I’d really appreciate it if—”

  He laughed. “Boy, you’re coverin’ all your bases, huh? No offense taken. I’m workin’ tonight, Clark. I never drink when I’m workin’. But that don’t mean you can’t. In fact, you need to. C’mon, let’s get you a beer, then you can mingle.”

  I don’t feel like mingling. Honestly, I don’t feel like being here. And for a while, I thought we wouldn’t make it over here.

  I told Renee about the picnic when she got home from work, and she groaned.

  “Can’t we just stay home and have pizza delivered?” she said. “I had a lousy day.”

  “I wish we could,” I said. I told her Teklenburg would be there.

  Her mouth dropped open, eyes impossibly wide, and her hands began to tremble. “Clark, you can’t expect me to go to a barbecue with that…that….oh, God, I’d put a fork in his throat, Clark, I wouldn’t be able to help myself!”

  I led her to the kitchen, poured her a glass of wine. We went out on the back porch, sat on the swing and I told her Wylie’s plan in whispers. Several emotions battled for dominance on her face as she thought about it. Finally, she whispered, “We can’t take Melinda if he’s going to be there.”

  “You want to leave her here by herself? No way. She’s coming. It’ll be interesting to see her reaction when she sees him there. When we get home tonight, we’ll sit her down and have a talk.”

  More seconds passed. “So, you’re really going to do this?”
/>   “What do you mean? Last night, you wanted to do it.”

  Suddenly, she threw her arms around me and held me close. “What did we do wrong, Clark? I mean, if he had forced her…if it had been against her will…that would be different. But you said she seemed to enjoy it. This is something she’s been keeping from us. What did we do wrong?”

  I could not answer her question, so I said nothing, just held her.

  Wylie’s stereo plays country music through speakers mounted around the covered patio. In the center of the patio, a large metal tub of ice holds beer and soft drinks. Melinda huddles with Cherine and Erica in a corner, each with a soft drink in hand. Renee is helping Nadine in the kitchen and I wish she were with me now. I sip a Heineken, smile at Melinda. She turns away, looks pissed. I chat with Monica and Phil for a couple of minutes, until Wylie joins us, says the burgers and dogs will be on the grill in no time, then takes me aside.

  He quietly says, “Why don’t you go out front, see if that little alfalfa-sprout-eating prick is out there. Maybe he’s not sure which house I’m in.”

  “Sure. Do me a favor and keep an eye on the girls, okay? Renee is not to leave the premises.”

  “I told the girls if they even think of going anywhere tonight, I’ll kill ‘em, have ‘em stuffed, and we’ll drag ‘em out at the holidays to prop up at the table.”

  We laugh, then I cross the yard, walk along the far side of the house toward the front. Kate and Barry Murchison are on their way to the back yard.

  “Wylie got them burgers cookin’ yet?” Barry asked, grinning.

  “I think the briquettes are giving him a hard time tonight, Barry.”

  “Oh, shit! Briquettes givin’ Wylie a hard time?” His laughter sounds like a bad case of hiccups. “Man, that can’t be good. I bet Wylie’s pissed!”

  “Why would Wylie be pissed?” Kate asks.

  Still grinning, Barry says, “Shut up,” and they walk on.

  I spot Chick Teklenburg coming up the street on this side. Head down, four fingers stuffed into each pocket of his jeans, something tucked under his left arm. He’s not very big. I could overpower him easily. Get him in the shadows beside Wylie’s house and kill him. Strangle him, maybe. Or maybe I’d just stomp on his skull till it was flat. It would feel so good.

  “Hey, Chick,” I say with a smile.

  He smiles back, coming closer. “I hope I’m not late.”

  “Not at all. Wylie’s still battling the briquettes.” I turn around and we go up Wylie’s driveway together.

  “I got involved in work and lost track of time,” he says. “I couldn’t remember what time Wylie told me to come, and I was afraid I was late.”

  “Must be nice to do something you enjoy so much, you can lose track of time like that,” I say, wanting to wrap my hands around his scrawny neck, dig my thumbs into his larynx.

  He nods. “It’s the only way to live, man. I love my work. It hasn’t made me rich and famous, but it’s made me very happy.”

  I want to scoop his eyeballs out of their sockets with my fingers and shove them into his mouth. Instead, I say, “I enjoy my work, but not that much.” He is about to ask, but I don’t wait. “I teach out at Shasta College. English. I like working with young people.” I smile at him. “Of course, the young people I work with all have their clothes on.”

  He stumbles to a stop, turns to me. “Huh? I mean…what?”

  “The model at your place this morning. You said she was naked.”

  His head tips back and he laughs, starts walking again. “Oh, yeah. She was, man. And she was beautiful.”

  He must know Melinda is my daughter. Unless he’s an idiot. For just a second, there, I thought I’d scared him, but now I’m not so sure. He’s so relaxed, so casual.

  “But when you’re working on something,” he says, “you really don’t notice. I mean, the work takes over and you don’t even think about it.”

  A yelp of laughter gets out before I can stop it. I ignore it and say, “That’s interesting.”

  His head bobs a few times. I’d like to put it on the end of a stick.

  We round the corner of the house to the back yard. “Would you like a beer?”

  “Wylie told me to bring this,” he says, taking the bottle of wine from under his arm. “I had it in the ‘fridge for a while to chill.’”

  “Let’s go in the kitchen for a glass. I’ll introduce you to my wife,” I say, thinking, Oh yeah, she’s just dying to meet you, buddy.

  Nadine is laughing her loud, wailing laugh as we walk into the kitchen. Ricky is washing his hands in the sink and Renee is taking a platter of deviled eggs from the refrigerator, setting it on the counter.

  “Renee?” I say. “Chick’s here.”

  As she turns, I feel genuine suspense. I have no idea what will be on her face, what she will say.

  She is grinning.

  “Hey, Chick,” Ricky says, drying his hands on a few wadded paper towels.

  “Chick, this is my wife Renee. Renee, this is Chick Teklenburg, our neighbor who keeps to himself.”

  He glances at me and chuckles.

  Still grinning, Renee rushes toward him, and for an instant, I fear she’s going to pounce on him, wrestle him to the floor, and strangle him, and I almost step forward to stop her when she reaches out for his hand.

  “Well, it’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Teklenburg,” she says as they shake. “You know, I’ve wanted to drop by a few times, maybe bring you some cookies, or something, but you’re so quiet down there at the end of the street, I’m afraid I’ll be interrupting something.”

  If it weren’t for the fact that I know what is going through her head at that moment, if I weren’t in on the whole thing, I would have no idea she wants to kill the man. She is genuinely warm. I married Meryl Streep.

  “He’s an artist, honey,” I say, smiling.

  “Really?” She turns to Nadine. “Did you know we had an artist living on the street?”

  “I had no idea!” Nadine said loudly. She is even more outgoing than Wylie. I’m surprised she hasn’t hugged Teklenburg yet. After all, she has no idea what he did to her daughter. “All this time we’ve been running into each other at Raley’s and you never said a thing.” She swiped the dishtowel at him. “Self-employed, he says. You’re too modest, Chick.” She points at the bottle. “Can I get you a glass for that, or are you drinking it straight from the bottle tonight?”

  He laughs, nods. Nadine takes the bottle to open it.

  “What kind of artist are you, Mr. Teklenburg?” Renee asks. She’s giving him the same look she gives her clients, the you-are-the-only-other-person-in-this-room look.

  “Call me Chick,” he says. “Mr. Teklenburg is my dad, and man, if he’s here, I’m gone,” Renee laughs. “I’m a digital artist.”

  “That’s fascinating,” she says.

  Nadine hands Teklenburg a glass of wine and we leave the kitchen, go outside to join the others. Renee and Teklenburg chat the whole time.

  “Hey, Chick!” Wylie says. “Didn’t know if you were gonna make it. I hope you brought an appetite.”

  “I’m ready to eat.”

  “Won’t be long now. I’m having a little trouble with the briquettes. Deeny bought a case of some off-brand at CostCo and they’re not worth a piss into the wind. Lessee, you got your drink. Here comes Deeny and Ricky with the appetizers.”

  Nadine and Ricky carry the trays to the patio and put them on a table. Wylie heads back to the barbecue and we go to the table and munch on celery and potato chips.

  The sun is going down and long shadows are slowly crowding together. The lights in the covered patio have not been turned on yet, but in spite of the murkiness, I can see Melinda talking with Wylie’s girls. They are leaning close, as if conspiring. She has not noticed Teklenburg. Not yet. Suddenly, Melinda stands up and looks around until she spots me. She hurries around the tub of ice.

  “Dad, if it’s only for a minute, can I go with Cherine and Erica to Target fo
r a—”

  “No.”

  “But we’ll only be gone for a—”

  “I said, no. And I’ve got news for you. Cherine and Erica can’t go anywhere, either. Wylie told me. Have you met our neighbor?” I turn to Teklenburg, who is facing the table, dipping a chip. “Chick? This is our daughter Melinda.”

  As he turns, he lifts a chip with a glob of green dip on it to his mouth. It freezes an inch from his parted lips when he sees her.

  “Melinda, this is Chick Teklenburg,” I say, smiling. “He’s a digital artist.”

  She freezes, too, jaw slack.

  As if cued by divine providence, the patio lights come on and Melinda and Chick gawk at one another for a second. Finally, he pops the chip in his mouth, wipes his hand on his jeans, and extends it to her.

  “Melinda,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Yeah. Nice to meet you, too.” After a single shake, she drops his hand and turns to me again.

  “No,” I say before she can speak.

  With a long sigh that sounds like her whole life is nothing but torment, Melinda turns and goes back to the corner to rejoin Cherine and Erica.

  Teklenburg turns back to the table. To compose himself, I’m sure.

  “She’s a very obstinate girl,” I say, slowly shaking my head.

  Renee says, “We’re thinking of selling her into slavery. You know anybody who’d be interested, Chick?”

  His head turns to her in jerks and he stares at her a moment, mouth open. When Renee laughs, I laugh with her, and Teklenberg’s whole body relaxes as he smiles slowly, finally laughs with us.

  Lights on the back of the house brighten the back yard. Barry Murchison and Phil Halprin have started a game of horseshoe on the lawn. Wylie is hovering nervously around the barbecue. He checks his watch. Ricky joins him and they confer, heads close together.

  “Clark says you have a lovely koi pond,” Renee says.

  “Oh, yeah,” Teklenburg says, head bobbing. “The koi. They need a lot of attention, but they’re so beautiful, they’re worth it.”

  “I’ve been thinking about putting a koi pond in the back yard,” she says.

  “You have?” It’s the first I’ve heard about it.