by Lourey, Jess
I sat up in bed, my heart pounding a sick beat. “What? What happened?”
“You should get there soon. Do you need me to drive you?”
“No,” I said reflexively. I rested the phone in its cradle and looked around my bedroom like it was the first time I’d seen it.
“You okay?”
I started. I’d forgotten that Taunita and her kids were here. She stood on the edge of the kitchen, appearing ghostly in a white nightgown.
“No,” I said.
She nodded. She was used to things not being okay. “You need to go somewhere?”
I stood and began pulling on clothes. “Yeah. The hospital.”
She disappeared and returned with my coat and boots. “I’ll watch your animals. You call back here if you need anything.”
Thirty-Five
Curtis Poling had been out for a midnight walk, a habit of his that he refused to give up when he entered the nursing home. I’d caught him at it late one August night when I was one of the last customers to leave the Rusty Nail. I’d at first thought real dementia had kicked in. He’d convinced me he was out for pleasure and that he did it every night. He said he never walked far, but that he had to get out because the only time he could think was when the world was quiet. He’d managed to sneak out all those evenings without alerting the nursing home attendants, so who was I to deny him his simple pleasure?
This particular night, however, he’d been attacked behind the Apothecary. It was only good luck that Theadora had found him when she came to check on the alarm that had gone off.
“I thought he was a pile of rags.” She kept twisting the tissue in her hands. “When I saw it was a person, I couldn’t remember the phone number for the ambulance at first. Is that the stupidest thing you ever heard? I couldn’t think of three simple numbers.”
I kept my arm around her. “But you did remember them.”
She nodded. “I was afraid to touch him. He looked so fragile, as if he’d been dropped from the sky. I didn’t even recognize it was Curtis right away, there was so much blood. And someone had stolen his coat. Who does that?”
I had a good idea exactly who had done that. I felt as if my insides had been scoured by metal, like somehow I should have done more to stop Ray and Hammer. Maybe then Curtis wouldn’t be in surgery, which is all the doctor could tell us. And when I say us, I mean me and a significant portion of Battle Lake. Familiar, tired faces had begun shuffling in, people who’d been reached by the phone tree and told that one of their own was hurting. We milled in the waiting room like zombies, our numbers growing, everyone afraid to speak too loudly, possibly afraid of waking one another and realizing this wasn’t just a bad dream.
Theadora had stood by Curtis until the ambulance arrived, covering him with her own coat despite the plummeting temperatures, telling him it was going to be okay, crying. She told me she hadn’t seen anyone else in the alley, just all that blood in the snow like someone had spilled a pitcher of cherry Kool-Aid.
“Weren’t you concerned whoever did this to him would come back?”
Theadora blinked. I could tell it hadn’t occurred to her to worry about anything but Curtis. In that moment, I loved her more than my own heart. I asked her if she needed anything. When she shook her head, I went in search of coffee. I took the corner toward the cafeteria when a familiar voice caught my ear. I tipped back and saw that Chuck Litchfield had joined the Battle Lake contingent. Behind him was Johnny, bedsheet creases still in his face. I kept walking, like the coward I am. I didn’t have it in me to deal with either of them tonight.
I hid out in the cafeteria for an hour, peeking occasionally into the waiting room. The hospital staff eventually had to ask most of the locals to leave, saying they didn’t have room for all of us, and besides, there was nothing we could do here. Once Johnny and Chuck were gone, I returned to the waiting room to beg to be allowed to stay. I would have hidden behind a plant or stolen some scrubs and tried to blend in if they’d said no.
Both Theadora and I were allowed to stick around by dint of our closeness to Curtis—Theadora in finding him, and me in being his closest friend outside of the nursing home. Mrs. Berns was a near second, but she let me stay rather than fight it out. She and Kennie both gave me a hug before leaving, and I promised to spread word as soon as we had news.
A little after eight o’clock in the morning, a nurse with kind eyes touched my shoulder and asked if I was here for Curtis Poling. That “yes” was one of the most difficult words I’d ever uttered. She must have seen the fear in my eyes because she immediately shook her head and told me that Curtis was out of surgery. He was in rough shape and couldn’t have visitors for at least another day, maybe longer, but it looked like he was going to pull through. The tears gushed out of my eyes. I gently shook Theadora, who had fallen asleep on my shoulder. After I shared the good news with her, I used the hospital phone to dial Kennie.
After the information tree had been started, I was at a loss. The nurse had gently informed us that there was no reason to stay. I was too wired to go home or to work. I returned to the phone and called Mrs. Berns.
“I heard,” she said by way of hello.
“Hi.”
“My phone has been ringing off the hook. Are you still at the hospital?”
“Yep. They think he’s going to be okay.”
“That cat’s had more than his share of lives.” She coughed on the other end of the phone.
“Are you crying?”
“Are you stupiding?”
“It’s okay. I know how much Curtis means to all of us.”
I heard snuffling on the other end of the line, then nose-blowing. “What was that old fart doing walking behind the drugstore at midnight, anyways?”
I had that same question. Not why he was out walking, but why he was walking in an alley. “Theadora said the silent alarm was triggered, but that the police haven’t yet found any evidence of a break-in.” I thought of what Gary had told me about the booming pharmaceutical market in the region. “Maybe Curtis interrupted them in progress?”
“Like we did in the alley behind the post office the other night?”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Is Curtis talking yet?”
“No. The nurse said he might not even be able to have visitors for days.”
“Well, I’ll watch the library for you.”
“What for?”
“So you can track down who hurt our man and give them a can of hell back.”
Thirty-Six
I was confident that my two alley-rats, Stingray and Hammerhead, had beaten up Curtis. I also had a hunch that Gary knew the same thing and was on their trail. I intended to help him in any way I could, without him knowing and without me risking my neck. It would be a delicate dance. I gassed up the Toyota, purchased a granola bar and a Styrofoam cup of coffee that tasted like burnt feet, and got to work, disregarding the sleep-deprived fogginess of my brain and the gravelly feel inside my eyelids.
My first stop was Silver Lake, and specifically the new cabin that had gone up on the north side last fall. It was a gorgeous, log A-frame on a pretty little wooded plot. I sometimes drove the long way home from work and so had witnessed the construction process, the cabin going up like a grand Lincoln Log project. I was almost surprised when they didn’t top it off with a plastic green roof and a little cavalry man to watch over the shores of the lake.
Nancy had mentioned that cabins all around the lakes had been broken into, but that this one had been trashed. It made sense that the gang was using them as a place to squat. Most lake cabins were empty in the winter. Free rent for thieves. That’s when it occurred to me that I didn’t know how many were in this gang. Gary had made it seem like a lot, but Taunita had made it sound like there were only a handful.
Taunita. I’d need to call her as soon as I reached a phone so I could update
her on Curtis. I hoped she and the kids weren’t trashing the house. I also wondered when I was going to break down and buy a cellphone. Most everyone I knew owned one, but I wasn’t ready to be constantly available. Plus, they were expensive. Times like these, though, it seemed stupid not to have one.
I was thankful the weather was good. Cold, but clear, with only a light dusting of snow the night before. The January thaw had lasted all of two days, but it seemed to have brought a pile of trouble with it. The poplars and oaks lining the shores of Silver Lake were frosted with a bright white hoar. Most of the cabins dotting the shoreline appeared empty, except for one with smoke trailing up from the chimney. I wrote down the address and kept driving. It seemed unlikely that gang members would call attention to themselves by starting a fire, but what did I know from gangs? I kept driving until I hit the log cabin. It was placed far enough back from the road so that I had to pull into the recently plowed driveway for a full view of it, but I didn’t need to drive far to spot the damage. The windows facing me had been boarded over, and I had to believe that the gorgeous bay window facing the lake was in the same condition.
I didn’t spot any tracks. I stepped out of the car to be sure—fresh snowfall can play tricks on the eyes—but it was clear no one had been here at least since the previous night’s light snowfall. The perpetrators, police, and probably owner had come and gone already. The only one left to visit was the insurance company.
I didn’t actually want to locate Hammer and Ray. I just wanted to find where they were and pass that information onto Gary. My only other lead was the microbrewery, and that was a long shot at best. It relied on me being sure Eric was there—which I pretty much was—and that he was tied to the gang activity, even distantly. It was a strong possibility given his connections to Chicago and crime, not to mention the fact that he’d shown up in town the same time as the Sea Monsters Gang. Still, even if those two hunches were solid, I’d needed to coax the honorary Irish staff into giving him up, which is where my plan fell apart.
Maybe it was the giddiness of sleep deprivation that made me forge ahead despite all the long shots. Oh well. I’d worry about that when I got there.
Thirty-Seven
The fresh snow gave the countryside a fluffy feel, like a loaf of bread just pulled out of the oven. I wasn’t in the mood to enjoy it, though. I cruised past Vienna’s house, noting that the T Wrecks tow truck was gone. New snow usually means new accidents, even during daylight hours. Something about the flakes messes with people’s driving skills.
I’d concocted a plan during the drive. It was brief. I was confident Eric was working and possibly living at the brewery. I also knew that nobody would tell me exactly where to find him. I would chance peeking my head into the main lodge. If I spotted no one with an eyebrow piercing, I’d feign being lost and leave, my next stop the dorms/fitness center Mrs. Berns had told me about. I hoped that no one at the lodge would recognize me as that nosy woman from the tour and spread the word.
I pulled into the lodge, noting there were no cars in front. I checked the front door. Locked. Well, that took care of that. I jogged over to the actual brewery and stepped in. The scent of sour mash washed over me. Two workers glanced up, startled. Neither of them had eyebrow piercings, and neither looked happy to see me.
“Sorry, are there tours today?”
“Not till the weekend.” The man set down his clipboard and began to walk toward me.
“Thanks, I’ll check back!” I smiled and let the door swing shut, hurrying to my car. He stood in the square of the door, watching me pull away. I veered off the main driveway, cruised a half a mile, and found myself in front of a building even larger than the main lodge, though without the charm. It looked like a small apartment complex, boxy, newish, with six large windows spaced evenly apart on both floors. I assumed they placed it out of view from the main building because it lacked the visual appeal.
I parked between a Toyota Prius and a Chevy Cavalier and walked in like I owned the place. I was surprised at how modern the interior was, though I shouldn’t have been. I could see and smell the chlorine tang of the indoor pool, a glass wall separating me from the water and the couple splashing in it. An unstaffed desk was to my left and behind it were two doors, one marked “Women’s Locker Room” and the other “Men’s Locker Room.” To my right was a hallway, which I assumed led to the kitchen, other workout rooms, and the “grope room.” There also must be stairs somewhere that led to the second floor apartments. It was a fantastic setup for a mini-community, and I wondered if they would consider hiring me. Probably not. I had a tendency to burn bridges in situations like this.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m interested in—”
I turned toward the voice and found myself face to face with Eric Offerdahl.
Thirty-Eight
The photo had been fuzzy, but there was no mistaking the metal stake piercing his eyebrow. The brown hair and eyes matched, as well. He was my guy. I held out my hand.
“Betty Fishbacher.”
He lifted an eyebrow. He smelled like cigarettes and stale whiskey and had the sallow skin of someone who didn’t spend a lot of time above ground. “Eric.”
I nodded, as if this was all normal. I was about to ask him about a job here when he scratched at his arm, revealing the bottom half of what appeared to be an electric eel tattoo, complete with lightning bolts of electricity zapping out of it. I thought immediately of Ray’s manta tattoo and Hammer’s shark ink. Sea Monster. Operation Offerdahl and Cold Case had just merged into one.
While my brain was processing all this, my body went a different direction and punched Eric in the chest. I didn’t think about it, I didn’t plan it, it didn’t even occur to me that I was doing it until I saw him stumble, hand to his chest.
“What the hell was that?”
I glanced at my throbbing hand. That was accumulated stress, fear, and anger held in too long. I’d never punched anyone before, at least not like that. His chest had felt solid, and then it had given like wet paper when my force had overridden his, just like they’d taught us in the self-defense class I’d taken last month. “You’re in the gang from Chicago.”
He pulled his sleeve down. “Who the hell are you?”
I couldn’t remember the fake name I gave him. My adrenaline, out of nowhere, was gushing like a waterfall. “I’m the friend of the old man you shits beat up last night. I’m the person who knows you all drowned Maurice alive and left his two little kids without a dad.” I felt dizzy and realized I hadn’t been breathing.
To my surprise, Eric laughed. “Hell, woman, we ain’t that. We’re just a bunch of dumb punks who like to pretend we’re in a gang. We wouldn’t hurt anyone. We might smoke a little dope, sure, but that’s it. Mostly, I’m clean. I’ve got this job, right?” He held up his hands and indicated the rec room.
His confidence and unexpected honesty unbalanced me more. “You’re friends with Hammerhead and Stingray?”
“Sure.”
“The three of you didn’t try to break into the Battle Lake Apothecary last night and then beat up an old man when he caught you?”
“No.” He shook his head. “That sounds pretty harsh.”
For a split-second, quicker than a blink, his front dropped and I saw his real self. If I hadn’t been giving him my full attention, I would have missed it. Behind his friendly smile and easy half-truths, rage boiled like acid. The glimpse was gone, as fast as it had come, replaced by an open smile. Still, that peek was enough to chill me and bring me down from my adrenaline. I suddenly felt shaky and tired, and scared. But I wasn’t going to make the same mistake he had, so I kept my angry face on.
“Yeah, pretty harsh. What about Maurice?”
Eric nodded, leaned back on the counter, shoved his hands deep in his pockets, studied his shoes like they held all the answers. “Real sad. We’re hoping the
police find out what went on there.” He pulled his eyes back up to me, a new light in them. “Hey, are you the detective Stingray gave the letter to? Man, I told him he shouldn’t have done that. He said you were a hot ride, though, looked a little like that actress in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, the newer version, not the original. What was her name?”
I didn’t answer.
“I didn’t like the remake, but she was hot. Man. So maybe Stingray went in for that?” He chuckled, and then the chuckle turned to laughter. “What the hell did you tell me your name was? Fishbacher?”
I glanced at the pool. The couple was getting out, disappearing through the same door. Had they seen me hit Eric? Unlikely, or they would have come out already. I listened for other sounds in the building. I didn’t want to be alone with Eric.
He pulled a lollipop out of his back pocket, a red one, and peeled off the plastic. He kept smiling as he sucked, still leaning against the front counter as if he possessed all the time and glory in the world. “I was at work here when Mo got offed, you can ask around. I heard he was a snitch who got what was coming to him, but I don’t believe it. Sure, he might have gotten hung up in a real gang, but I think I would have known. He was a good guy, a good guy with weird ideas, but man, he didn’t deserve to die. You know about Taunita? And the babies? Hammer said he called them, let them know about Mo.”
I didn’t like him being in charge of the conversation. “What do you know about Chuck Litchfield?”
He pushed himself off the counter, his mask falling again. He quickly adjusted. “He’s a bad-ass. I’d watch out for him.”
I couldn’t tolerate his slimy presence for another second. He was a liar, and worse, he was cruel. It was written in the way he carried himself, the tightness in his shoulders, how his eyes always searched for an angle. He was disgusting. I turned without another word, every bit of me listening for him to follow.
