Quiver

by Peter Leonard

  He slid the sleeve off the candy bar and peeled back the tin foil, broke off a piece and put it in his mouth. Now he put the Z28 in gear, hit the gas and pulled out of the parking lot, tires squealing.

  Teddy said, “What the hell took so long?”

  “I had some trouble,” Celeste said. “Man forgot his manners.”

  “Teach him a lesson, did you?”

  “Let’s just say he’s going to have one whopper of a headache when he wakes up.”

  Teddy finished the candy bar, rolled the tin foil into a ball and threw it in the backseat. “Want to tell me what happened?”

  Celeste heard a siren and said, “Think you could go a little faster?” They were on 94 passing City Airport outside Detroit.

  “What’s the matter?” Teddy said. “You got to go tee tee?”

  He didn’t catch on real fast.

  Teddy said, “Give me a beer.”

  Celeste opened a minicooler on the floor next to her feet, took out an ice-cold can of MGD dripping water, and handed it to Teddy. She wiped her cold wet hand on her jeans. He popped the top, took a long drink and put it between his legs.

  “Anyway,” Celeste said, “I was standing in line waiting to pay for a bottle of Cold Duck, this rude dick with ears steps in front of me with a couple six-packs like I wasn’t there.”

  “What’d he look like?”

  Celeste said, “Just a normal-looking redneck in Levi’s and a wifebeater, could’ve been your twin brother.”

  “Didn’t look anything like me,” Teddy said. “I seen him get out of a red Dodge 4? 4, go in the store.”

  She liked messing with him, pushing him to a point where he’d start to get angry and then ease up. A Wayne County sheriff ’s deputy blew past them going the other way, Ford 500, lights flashing.

  Teddy looked over at her. “You do something back there?”

  His little brain was starting to catch on. “That’s what I was getting to, if you’d let me continue.”

  Teddy fixed his attention on the rearview mirror, watching the cop car.

  “I said to him-”

  “Who?” Teddy said.

  “Redneck in the party store,” Celeste said. “You got the attention span of a fucking gnat.”

  “If you weren’t taking all day to tell this exciting story, maybe I’d be able to follow you.”

  “I said to the redneck…” She looked at Teddy. “Still with me, or should I go slower?”

  Teddy gave her a dirty look.

  “I said to him, ‘What am I, invisible? You don’t see me standing here?’

  “Know what he said? Nothing. Ignored me.”

  Teddy brought the beer can up to his mouth, finished it, squeezed the can almost flat and threw the empty over his shoulder into the backseat and glanced at Celeste. “Another one bites the dust.”

  She opened the cooler, took out a can of MGD, gave it to Teddy, reached over and wiped her wet hand on his T-shirt.

  He said, “Hey, you’re getting me all wet.”

  “I was standing behind him. Gripped the Cold Duck bottle with two hands, swung it like a baseball bat, hit him on the side of his head, and believe me I got all of it. Would’ve been an off-the-wall double. The bottle exploded and he went down, crashing to the floor and didn’t move. The skinny geek manager behind the counter whose name was Jerry asked if I could find everything okay? And was there anything else I needed.”

  Teddy drank some beer and played air guitar to “Lookout Mountain” by the Drive-By Truckers, looking over at her occasionally, grinning.

  “I said, ‘Jer-Bear, I need two packs of Marlboro Lights, some Juicy Fruit, a couple of Nestle’s Crunches, a twelve of MGD and a bottle of Cold Duck.’ And while he was getting everything together, I thought, what the hell. He put it all on the counter, looked up at me and I said, ‘There is one more thing-I’ll take your money, too, all of it, including the big bills under the tray.’ I had the. 38 Ruger pointed at him. He cleaned out the register and asked me if I wanted a bag. ‘No, dumbshit,’ I said, ‘I’m going to walk out of here, let everyone see the money I just robbed.’ Know what he said then? ‘Paper or plastic?’ You believe it?”

  Teddy’s eyes were glued to her now. “What kind of dumbfuck stunt was that? You don’t go in, rob a place by yourself-you don’t know who’s in the back watching you on a video monitor, come out with a shotgun.”

  “It just happened. Police would’ve come one way or the other. I figured I’d take advantage of the situation. What’s the problem? You’re going to get half of what’s in the bag and it was a piece of cake.”

  “You don’t do that,” Teddy said. “We got rules.”

  The car was drifting over the center line now, heading for an approaching SUV.

  Celeste said, “We got rules on the highway, too-you keep your car in the lane, don’t run into somebody head-on like you’re about to do.”

  Teddy looked up, swerved right, went too far, and overcorrected, the Z28 sliding off-road on gravel. Celeste thinking they were going into the ditch, but Teddy surprised her, got it under control, and they were back on the highway, cruising like nothing happened. He’d said he was a racecar driver-and maybe he was.

  “Don’t say nothing,” Teddy said. “Don’t say a fucking word.”

  They rode in silence, Celeste staring straight down the road listening to the Truckers doing “Hell No, I Ain’t Happy”:

  There’s a lot of bad wood underneath the veneer

  She’s an overnight sensation after twenty-five years

  Teddy trying to sing along, getting a word right here and there like he knew it-in a voice that didn’t understand tone or style.

  After a time, Celeste said, “Want me to drive, let you enjoy your buzz?”

  Teddy looked over and grinned. “Tell me why I shouldn’t haul off and pop you?”

  “ ’Cause if you do, I’ll leave you.” She pulled the Ruger out and aimed it at him. “Or maybe I’ll shoot you.”

  “Go ahead,” Teddy said. He looked at her with a lunatic grin and started turning the wheel back and forth, the Z28 doing slalom turns in the lane, going wider, tires making contact with gravel.

  Celeste said, “What’re you doing?”

  “What’re you doing?” Teddy said.

  “Fucking with you,” Celeste said.

  “Me too,” Teddy said.

  Celeste put the gun back in her shoulder bag.

  Teddy stopped turning the wheel, put the car back on course.

  He had the hair-trigger temper of an adolescent, like somebody put him to sleep when he was fourteen and woke him up yesterday. Give him shit, he’d give it back to you harder.

  “Before I get any more pissed off,” Teddy said, “tell me how much you got?”

  Celeste took the money out of the plastic bag, a pile of bills in her lap and started counting. When she was finished, she looked at Teddy and said, “Guess.”

  “It’s never easy with you, is it?”

  “Want it to be easy, get yourself somebody has no imagination, does what they’re told.” She reached over, slid her hand slowly, gently, along his inner thigh, fingertips gliding over his jeans. She reached between his legs, felt the bulge of his manhood, fondling him, teasing him, holding him and tightening her grip, Teddy squirming, looking down at her hand with red nails painted a color called Passion Punch.

  Teddy saying, “Easy.”

  A look of concern on his face now, not sure what she was going to do, but wanting more.

  Celeste said, “Ou okay?” in her baby-talk voice. “I’m not hurting widdo Ted, am I? Should we get him out, have some fun? Or should I count the money? Decisions, decisions.”

  In spite of their differences-and there were a couple thousand of them-they’d been together three years. Teddy had a few hang-ups, which wasn’t surprising for a guy who grew up an only child on a farm in Perks, a little town in southern Illinois.

  Celeste said, “Where exactly is Perks at?”

  Teddy said
, “South of Carbondale, east of Cape Girardo.” He laughed, Jesus, bent over like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard in his life.

  Celeste said, “Okay, I give up.”

  “Cape Girardo’s on the other side.”

  Celeste said, “Other side of what?”

  “Mississippi, dummy. What do you think?”

  Celeste got it now: you’d have to cross the river to get there, and you’d probably get wet. She guessed that’s what he was saying. She gave him a fake laugh. In his hick farm-boy way, Teddy was being funny. She wanted to say, “Don’t quit your day job to be a comedian just yet,” his day job involving smoking weed, drinking Jack, and robbing liquor stores.

  Celeste asked him what they grew on the farm.

  Teddy said, “Corn and soybeans. We also raised sheep-Hampshires and Suffolks.”

  Celeste said, “You know what you call a guy with two thousand girlfriends?”

  Teddy looked at her and said, “Huh?”

  Celeste said, “A shepherd.”

  Teddy grinned.

  “Ever have your way with one?”

  Teddy grinned bigger. “Matter of fact, I lost my virginity to a 120-pound Hampshire ewe named Winky.”

  Celeste was surprised he was so open about it. She’d’ve thought he’d want to sweep that one under the rug. “What was it like? You know, making it with an animal?”

  “Winky was better than some of the farm girls I’ve done. And I didn’t have to take her out or sweet-talk her.”

  “What do you need me for?”

  Teddy got a big grin on his face and said, “I can’t tell you.” Then he started laughing and couldn’t stop.

  Celeste searched her mind now, trying to remember what she saw in this hick clown to stay with him for going on three years. He was nice-looking. He thought he looked like Billy Ray Cyrus. They did have a mullet in common. Teddy’s looked like it had 10W-30 motor oil on it half the time, Teddy not being a guy who liked to shower. He didn’t mind being clean; it was the process he didn’t care for-getting wet and cold and shaving and getting soap in his eyes. Not showering much wasn’t a deal breaker, ’cause Celeste liked the gamey smell of unwashed man. It turned her on.

  She met Teddy at a Hank Williams, Junior, concert at Pine Knob. Started talking in the beer line; Teddy behind her, checking out her behind. It sounded like the title of a country-western love song.

  He said, “Hey there, good-looking, got an extra dube you could part with?”

  Celeste had rolled a couple of bad boys and this nice-looking guy-with an honest-to-god mullet-sounded like he could really use one. She said, “Buy me a beer, I’ll fix you up.”

  Teddy handed her a twenty-ounce Miller High Life and they sat on the grass together, smoked weed and listened to Hank Jr. do “I Really Like Girls.”

  Teddy said, “What’s your name?”

  “Celeste.”

  “Celeste what?”

  “Celeste Byrnes.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Teddy. I’d like to get out of here, take you back to my place, but first I got to hear ‘Country Boy Can Survive.’”

  Celeste said, “I’m with someone.” She was out with this show-off ad guy named Ronnie Rockman; a friend had fixed her up. Ronnie had been speed-rapping her about his accomplishments since he’d picked her up. He’d just won a Clio, an Effie and a One Show, the equivalent of an advertising hat trick, not bad for a week’s work, huh?

  Celeste had no idea what he was talking about but gave him a fake smile when he looked over at her, beaming. Then he told her about his car, the BMW M5 they were riding in, Ronnie quoting its horsepower rating-394 SAE at 6100 rpm and zero-to-sixty in 5.3 seconds. He said he could afford to drive any car but chose the M5. Know why?

  Celeste’s brain hurt this guy was so boring.

  “ ’Cause, for the money,” Ronnie said, “it’s got everything: handling, performance, comfort-you name it.”

  It wasn’t a conversation; it was a monologue.

  Teddy said, “You having a good time with him?”

  Celeste said, “Not really. Who’re you with?”

  “I’m flying solo.”

  “You went to a concert by yourself?”

  “Far as I know, that’s not a crime, yet.”

  Celeste took out her cell phone and called Ronnie, who was sitting in row two in his pressed jeans and peach-colored Polo shirt. She said, “Ronnie, this is Celeste…”

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  “I’m leaving,” Celeste said. “Just wanted to let you know.” She hung up as he started to say something. Fuck Ronnie and his BMW M5.

  Teddy’s full name was Theodore Monroe Hicks. Celeste got a kick out of that after she found out where he was from-a hick named Hicks. What was that called? She thought it was irony, but had quit after her junior year at Walled Lake High to go to beauty school, so she didn’t trust herself to be right.

  They got in Teddy’s Ford Ranger pickup with the rebel license plate on the front and went to Teddy’s rented house, a dump in Clawson, and spent the weekend in bed, Teddy making her watch Predator, his favorite movie, stopping at a scene with a big muscle-bound dude firing a machine gun in a dense jungle setting at an alien you couldn’t see.

  Teddy said, “Know who that is?”

  There was an element of pride in his delivery, like they were related or something.

  Celeste said, “Someone from the WWF? An ex-football player?”

  Teddy grinned now. “That’s Jesse-damn-Ventura, governor of Minnesota’s who that is.”

  Celeste felt bad for the citizens of Minnesota now. They had it tough enough with forty-below winters and summers that lasted about three weeks. And now they had an action hero actor guiding their fortunes.

  What did she see in Teddy? The question popping back in her head. Celeste believed it came down to some kind of chemistry thing, some weirdo attraction. It certainly wasn’t his intellect. One time she asked him if he believed in love at first sight.

  He looked at her and said, “No,’ cause blind people can fall in love, too.”

  Sometimes he surprised her.

  Celeste counted the money, stacking the bills on her lap. When she finished, she locked her gaze on Teddy and said, “How much you think? Guess right, it’s all yours.”

  “What if I guess wrong?”

  “It’s all mine,” Celeste said.

  “What do you think,” Teddy said, “I’m dumb or something?”

  Celeste was thinking, “Boy, as a rock.” but she said, “I’m just messing with you. Come on, give it a shot.”

  Teddy stared at the money, taking his time like his life depended on it. He said, “$1,243,” and grinned. Then the grin disappeared and he said, “No, I want to change it. I guess $1,427.”

  “You were closer the first time,” Celeste said.

  Teddy was mad now. “That’s not fair.”

  “What’s not fair? You guessed wrong.”

  “You’re cheating.”

  “Why don’t you count it yourself?”

  “Maybe I will,” he said and turned into a strip-mall parking lot, downshifting, the high-performance engine rumbling, coming to a stop in a parking space in front of a Rite Aid drug store. “Give it to me,” Teddy said. “Let’s see who’s right and who’s not.”

  Celeste was confused. Who’s right? He was the only one who guessed, and he was wrong both times. She handed him the money and he started counting, stopped and started again.

  “Want some help? I know it’s a lot of numbers.”

  Teddy gave her a dirty look.

  Celeste cracked the window, lit a joint and blew the smoke out.

  Teddy looked over like he wanted a hit.

  Celeste said, “When you’re through. I don’t want to cloud your razor-sharp mind.”

  Teddy finished counting and locked his gaze on Celeste. “One thousand, three hundred fifty-eight, didn’t I say that?”

  Celeste said, “Quick, what’s that divi
ded by two?”

  Teddy said, “Huh?”

  Celeste said, “Six seventy-nine each. And you didn’t even have to get out the car.”

  Teddy grinned, getting it now. He put his hand up, reached over and said, “High five.”

  “This is the address he gave his parole officer,” Teddy said, pulling up to a tan ranch house with a robin’s-egg-blue garage door in Sterling Heights.

  Celeste glanced over at him. “And you believe it?”

  It was in a subdivision that didn’t have any trees. Just single-story houses and concrete streets.

  Celeste said, “Let me clue you in on something. If Jack’s got the money you say he’s got, he ain’t staying in Sterling Heights with his sis.”

  Teddy turned in the seat, facing her. “What the hell do you know?”

  He hated people telling him he was wrong. Girls most of all. Celeste said, “Think about it. Would you stay here if you were rich and just out of prison?”

  “We’ll see,” Teddy said.

  God, he was hardheaded. He got out of the car, walked up to the front door and rang the bell, turned, looked at her and waved.

  Celeste saw a car coming toward her, a silver two-door Chevy. It passed her and turned in the driveway, a chick with bright red hair behind the wheel. Teddy saw it too and moved around the front of the house toward the garage.

  SEVEN

  Dick May said, “I apologize it’s taken so long.”

  Kate said, “It’s not your fault. How many times have I postponed it?” She could see the trust documents on the desk in front of him.

  “Did you and Owen ever talk finances, assets, net worth?”

  “I was never too concerned,” Kate said.

  “I can understand.”

  Dick May was Owen’s attorney and good friend. He’d retired from a big Detroit firm and Owen was his only client: kept him busier than he wanted, but it was fun and lucrative-a nice combination for a former Princeton grad who’d just turned seventy but still had the energy and enthusiasm of a guy twenty years younger. Owen and May played tennis and golf and shot skeet, Owen giving him a handmade Benelli twelve-gauge for his seventieth birthday.

  Kate sat in a comfortable armchair across the desk from May in his quaint Bloomfield Hills office, which had a fireplace and a wet bar.