The Barkeep

by William Lashner

  “It’s just me,” said Justin.

  “Are you sure you want this?” said Cody.

  “I’m sure.”

  “No good can come from this.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “I’m afraid I won’t be. I got you a Glock forty. The clip is full, like you asked. Smith and Wesson cartridges. I can get you more ammunition if you need it.”

  “I won’t need it. Let me see.”

  When Cody stepped forward to hand over the bag, his face was sliced by a shard of yellow light. His eye was black and swollen shut, a side of his jaw had swelled to the size of a grapefruit.

  “What the hell happened to you?” said Justin.

  Cody backed away into the shadows. “The sure thing wasn’t so sure.”

  “I thought if it didn’t come through, you were going to work it out.”

  “Solly didn’t like my plan. Solly apparently didn’t like my teeth either, since his boys knocked two of them out.”

  “Maybe you need the gun.”

  “I can either fight or run. What do you think I should do?”

  “I see your point.”

  “I have some options, though. Well, one actually. A partnership of sorts. I have until tonight to decide if I should pursue it. It’s not something I’m looking forward to, but it could be lucrative as hell.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “It would be nice to get rich, but the price is pretty damn steep. Don’t know yet if I can muster up what it takes to pay it.”

  Justin opened the bag, pulled out the black automatic, hefted it in his hand. It was solidly heavy and it shone dully in the yellow light.

  “Do you know how to use that thing?” said Cody.

  Justin gripped the handle, pointed the gun at the Dumpster, and ejected the magazine. The magazine was full. In one smooth motion, he pulled the slide open, checked the chamber, let the slide snap back into place. He aimed the gun at a box in the alley and squeezed the trigger. He could feel the ping as the firing pin sprung forward. He nodded with satisfaction as he slammed the magazine back home.

  “I guess you’ve handled one before,” said Cody.

  “This one place I worked had a Beretta nine millimeter behind the bar. You had to be trained to use it before you poured. The pull’s pretty light on the Glock.”

  “They eased it up. Guy who gave it to me told me to keep my finger out of the guard until I was ready to kill something.”

  “This is just what I need.”

  “And I thought I was in the deep.”

  “It will all be over tonight. It’s just a matter of who shows up.”

  “Who do you think it will be?”

  “You don’t really want to know, do you, Cody?”

  “Not really. All I know is that from what I see in your eye, I sure as hell don’t want to be on the wrong end of it.”

  “How much?” said Justin as he put the gun back in the bag and rolled the top up tight.

  “Four hundred.”

  Justin took out of his back pocket the thick envelope his brother had given him, opened it, and slipped out four bills. Cody stared, transfixed by the wad, before stepping forward and taking the money.

  “I guess it’s a big night for both of us,” said Cody.

  “I guess so. Good luck, dude.”

  “You too, Justin. It’s probably the last time we’ll see each other.”

  “Probably.”

  “You made a good drink.”

  “You drank a good drink.”

  “I think you made them better than I drank them. I’m going to miss you, man.”

  “Me too.”

  There was an awkward moment where they stood there, the two of them, unsure of what to do next. And then, a strange emotion swelled in Justin’s throat. Cody wasn’t really a friend, he was more a business associate, the kind that continually drift in and out of your life. Losing touch with Cody wouldn’t normally have caused even a burp’s worth of distress, but suddenly Justin was feeling like he was losing his oldest and dearest buddy. And actually, thinking about how much Justin had cut himself off from the world in the last six years, maybe he was.

  Then the strangest thing of all happened. The two men hugged. How it happened Justin wasn’t sure; one moment he was standing there, wondering why he felt so rotten, and the next he was hugging Cody. A man hug, with the gun, all hard jabbing angles, between them.

  “Now get out of here,” said Cody when they stepped away from each other, “before I start crying into my beer.”

  “When the hell did you ever order a beer?” said Justin.

  “Buy me one next time I see you.”

  “Done,” said Justin, backing away. He took one last look at the small silhouette before turning, certain he would never see it again.

  61.

  A PINSKY

  The first person Derek ever killed was a kid in the neighborhood named Pinsky. Pinsky was a huge pink-faced kid who pushed around the little kids and often made fun of Derek. Derek was used to being made fun of. Pinsky was not the only one who harassed Derek when he was a boy and Pinsky was not even the worst. But Derek always knew who was mean to him and who was nice, and Pinsky was mean to him.

  But that was not why Derek had to kill Pinsky.

  One afternoon, Derek was walking along the creek in the woods, looking for salamanders and kicking at the leaves, when he heard a wild screeching in the distance. He moved carefully through the trees until he saw Pinsky playing with a cat. But the cat was not playing, the cat was screeching. Pinsky had tied the cat to a tree trunk and was trying to set the cat’s tail on fire with a small plastic lighter. As the cat clawed frantically and Pinsky snorted with delight, the dark scent of the cat’s singed fur hit Derek like a scream.

  Derek does not remember how he crossed the ground and grabbed hold of Pinsky. It happened so fast, all of it. But he does remember the feel of Pinsky’s head jerking this way and that and Pinsky’s legs kicking out as Derek squeezed harder and harder and harder. Until Pinsky’s head stopped its jerking. And the kicking ceased. And the weight in Derek’s arms went slack. And all that Derek heard was the squealing of the cat and some strange pounding in his ears.

  It took Derek a while to calm the cat enough so he could loosen the knots and untie her. Pinsky did not do anything to stop him. Once free, the cat bolted away, stopped and looked back, and then disappeared. With the cat gone, Derek himself retreated from the scene and hid behind a tree. He waited for Pinsky to wake up.

  And waited.

  And the longer he waited, the more agitated he became, pacing back and forth, jumping up and down, slamming his head into a tree trunk. He was agitated not because of what he had done—he had only done what he had to do—but because he was certain now that everyone would be really, really mad at him. Not his Grammy, who took care of him after they took his father away and who never got mad, but everyone else. So mad, maybe, that nothing would ever be the same. They would not let him in the school anymore, they would not give him free ice cream at the drugstore. Finally, he became too restless to stay and he tore off home, ran up to his room, bit his lip over and over as he waited for them to come.

  But they did not come. Not that day, not the next. Even after they found Pinsky’s body, they did not come, at least not for him. Two other boys were picked up by the police and questioned, but never Derek. It was like they could not see him, like he was wearing an invisibility cape. But that was not all. With Pinsky gone, things were better at school. Kids were nicer to him, there were more smiles, everyone was a little bit happier.

  Except, of course, the Pinskys, who eventually moved away and were never heard from again.

  He never thought he would ever do it again, ever. But the second time it happened, the second time he squeezed someone until they stopped being, there was no choice about it again, the way that guy had jumped on Sammy D in the dark like that. And after that first time with Sammy D, Sammy kept making sure it happened again and ag
ain. And Derek did as he was told, as if Derek had no choice in the matter, until the killing became less a big deal and more of a habit. And then less of a habit and more something that gave Derek a sense of pride.

  But still, even now, after all those times, and after learning that he is good at it, the anticipation of it, knowing it will have to happen again, is never easy. He never forgets the agitation he felt as he waited for Pinsky to get up and tell everyone what he had done. Terror, self-hatred, self-pity, anger, sadness. Like the worst pain he had ever felt, knowing that what happened could never be undone and how much trouble he was going to get in for doing it. The memory stands beside him, always, like a ghost. It is the image of that frightened kid in the woods, banging his head against a tree trunk, that makes him so careful in his jobs. And it is why he is happy that Vern finally gave him the job this evening. It is a bit of untidiness that has been weighing on Derek and that Derek needs to clean up.

  But tonight, even though he is happy about the one job, the ghost beside him is spinning with agitation. Because tonight, Derek is not only going to kill once, he is going to have to kill twice. He knows who the first one will be, but who the second will be is still undecided.

  “Derek.” A loud whisper in the park. “Where are you?”

  Derek stands and slips from beneath the prickly bush where he has been hiding. Cody is standing in the shadows by the bench, looking around.

  “Here,” says Derek.

  Cody’s head spins toward him. “Oh, wow, yes. I didn’t see you. Where were you?”

  “Hiding.”

  “Hiding? Why?”

  “I hide sometimes. Especially before a job.”

  “You don’t like doing the jobs, Derek?”

  “They are just jobs. But sometimes I hide.”

  “From what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be doing something that makes you want to hide.”

  “What else would I do?” says Derek. There is something lumpy on Cody’s face. Derek reaches a hand to Cody’s face. “What happened to Cody?”

  “I had a disagreement with some guys.”

  “About what?”

  “Money.”

  “Do you need more money? Because I can get you money. If you help me, I can get you lots of money.”

  “I know, Derek,” says Cody. “But I don’t know.”

  “It is just a trick, like the trick with the penny and the quarter. Come on, I will show you.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “There’s money at the place I am going tonight. Lots of money. I am just supposed to pick it up. You can have it if you need it.”

  “How much?”

  “A lot. A pile, Vern said. Come on.”

  Cody steps away and doesn’t do anything. He just stands there, his body still, and Derek waits patiently, waits for a decision. Something will have to happen here, he cannot just let Cody wander around knowing all he knows. He trusts Cody, but Rodney taught him that trust is for fools. So he waits, waits for Cody to decide.

  And then Cody nods, like he does not want to nod, like a hand is behind his head pushing it up and down and up and down. Nodding.

  “Good,” says Derek. “Glad. Let’s go.”

  Derek heads out of the park. He looks back once and Cody is not moving, but suddenly Derek is not worried. He knows Cody will follow. The money will drag him along. And the next time he looks back, Cody is there, walking behind him, hands in pockets and shoulders hunched, but walking with him to the job. Their job now.

  Derek has mapped it out in his head and made a pass in the afternoon with Vern to remind himself exactly where he is going. This way, and then that, and then this. Winding his way through the streets, avoiding the park, and coming up through the alley to the back part of the little house just the way Vern showed him.

  “Stand there,” says Derek, pointing to a spot between the door and a wedge of the street just off the alley.

  Cody steps where he is told. “Who lives here?” says Cody.

  “Just a guy,” said Derek.

  “I think I know someone who lives near here somewhere,” says Cody.

  “A friend?”

  “Sort of.”

  “That is nice.”

  “This guy inside. What did he do?”

  “He has money,” says Derek, taking the slim pack of tools out of his pocket. He runs his finger along the slot of the lock and then picks out a wrench that fits the hole.

  “But what did he do to deserve what you’re going to do?”

  “Vern makes that decision. I just do the job.”

  “Vern, huh?”

  “He tells me what to do. He plans the jobs and takes care of the money and takes care of me. I need Vern, or someone like Vern.”

  “You said the money was inside.”

  “For Vern.” Derek takes his eye off the door and looks at Cody, jiggling in the street like he has to pee. “But you can have it if you want.”

  “Then what about Vern?”

  “You would be Vern,” says Derek. He turns back to the door, looks at the lock for a moment, and then puts his hand on the knob. It turns sweetly.

  “Uh oh,” says Derek.

  “What?”

  “It was not locked.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means he is waiting for me.”

  “Maybe we should go.”

  “No, it is okay. Vern said I needed to talk to him to get the money.”

  “And then you’ll go.”

  Derek puts a finger up to his lips before he opens the door just wide enough to slip inside. He waits for Cody to follow. Cody eventually does.

  “What do you do now?” whispers Cody.

  “Find the job.”

  62.

  MAD MONK

  Justin, sitting cross-legged near the back wall of his tiny third-floor room, about ten feet from the stairway, felt something stir downstairs, something so slight it was less a stir than the thought of a stir. He wondered if he imagined it, but even so, he lifted his hands from his knees and put them in the pockets of his loose silk robe. With his right hand, he fingered the grip of the gun.

  This wasn’t the first time his nerves had sparked at a scrap of sound. He was trying to maintain his cool, the cool he’d need in the coming confrontation, but he was failing. Three days ago he would have been better at it, would have let the fear and the fret flow out of the pool of his being, leaving nothing but his barkeep’s level affect to deal with the coming confrontation, but three days ago he still believed in the tooth fairy. He had lost the equipoise he had been pursuing since he had been handed the book in the asylum, had lost the very notion that his being was a pool, had lost it all and was glad. For he knew now there was evil in the world, just as there was evil in his blood, and no placid little pond was enough to fend against its awful hand.

  It was the photograph in the lawyer’s office that showed it to him plain, once he allowed himself to accept the truth of it. It wasn’t a strange and remarkable coincidence that his father and his mother’s murderer were in the same prison at the same time. It was as natural as breathing, because they both were one and the same. And what of Birdie Grackle? He was merely a rancid figment of his father’s deranged imagination. He was bait leading Justin to find an alternative suspect to present at the precious motion for a new trial. And Justin, always the sucker, took the bait like a hungry marlin and towed that boat right into the harbor.

  But Justin’s father was still stuck in jail, which left Justin with Vernon Bickham to deal with. Vernon Bickham had been up for release and thereby held something of great value that Justin’s father might never know, freedom. And so Justin’s father had sent Vernon Bickham out into the world to wreak all kinds of havoc in order to win Justin’s father’s freedom. And it didn’t matter who Vernon mauled in the process. Uncle Timmy? His changed story was enough to get the motion for the new trial heard but not granted; his newfound lie would have fallen
apart on the stand, so he had to go. And Janet Moss? She was doomed as soon as Justin found her, because as a suspect, she was first-rate until the cops looked closer, so Vern had to stop the cops from looking closer. And Justin? He was first tempted by the ghostly Birdie Grackle and then beaten and warned to stop looking into his mother’s murder, all so he could be duped into searching the ruins of his past for his father’s answer.

  Cody had mentioned that the man he knew as Birdie Grackle was going to hit it rich on some insurance scam, and Justin could very well imagine exactly what he had in mind. One million dollars, the insurance payout on the death of Eleanor Chase, denied by the insurance company because of Mackenzie Chase’s conviction. But it would have to be paid if he was found not guilty. And the benefits would be signed over, immediately, either legally or extralegally, to one Vernon Bickham if all went as planned.

  Son of a bitch.

  But the extra ten thousand, that wasn’t Justin’s father’s idea, that was Bickham’s own little play, to tide him over until the million came through. Justin could see it on his father’s face in the prison visiting room, the disbelief and then the anger when he realized this whole brutal attempt to get himself out of his life sentence could founder on the shoals of the greed of his own fictional character, Birdie Grackle. Because if the cops got wind that Janet Moss hadn’t really killed herself in grief over what she had done, but had instead been murdered for maximum evidentiary impact, the ruthless cavalcade of lies and death would all be for naught.

  So now Vernon Bickham was coming. Or Vernon’s muscle that Cody had warned him about, no doubt the homunculus that had delivered the brutal warning in this very house, was coming. Or maybe both of them were coming. But all that was important was that someone was coming. Justin had made sure of it, by telling his father about the fingerprints and the plan to go to the police, leaving this one night as his father’s one chance to nip the destruction of his carefully laid plan in the bud. Justin’s father would unleash his hound, and someone would be coming, because there was too much at stake for him not to come, and Justin would be ready.