Dead Man Walking

by Quinn Buckland

  “Anyway, a neighbour girl had a heifer he wanted real bad. He did everything in his power to get that heifer from her, but she wouldn’t sell, especially for the price he was offering. I don’t know what he offered, didn’t bother asking. A few months later, she comes to his door and asks if he still wants that heifer. Naturally, he believed her to be desperate and he agreed to sell. She gathered his payment and sent him in the direction of the heifer.

  “He hunted for hours trying to find that damned cow and finally did at the bottom of a muddy slough. The problem was, the heifer was dead. He’d sold a lot of his better animals for a dead heifer.”

  “What’s your point?” Mister Oleander asks.

  “I never make a deal without first inspecting the merchandise. This includes waiting for what could very well be a dead heifer.”

  “You want me to take you directly to him?”

  “Not directly. I want to maintain some distance. As I said before, I’ll wait until his shift has finished to speak with him. Once I see him, you can go on your way, and I’ll do what I do. Capiche?”

  Mister Oleander lets out a deep sigh and mutters what I believe to be an obscenity under his breath.

  “Fine,” he says, his lips spreading into a furious scowl. “I’ll take you to Howard. Just leave me to my business.”

  “Deal.”

  Mister Oleander huffs and leads me into the assembly garage. A conveyor belt runs into a massive warehouse where a line of men places a single part into a smaller piece of machinery until near the end where a complete engine is created and ready to be put into an automobile.

  At the far end, I can see Howard Sutton spinning radiator caps onto completed radiators. He isn’t what I expected him to look like. He’s young, as young as Missus Sutton or younger. He has dusty brown hair, and his face is clean-shaved. He’s taller than medium height with more muscle than what Ruth described.

  “Are you happy now?”

  I grin. “Very. You can leave me here. I know what to do.”

  I don’t see Mister Oleander leave, my focus entirely on my mark. I need to see where he goes at night, and I’m prepared for anything.

  Chapter 3

  The Husband

  Howard Sutton still has most of his workday ahead of him. Instead of waiting where I would undoubtedly be seen, I leave the factory floor and wander to the main lobby. The receptionist glares at me and asks, “You leaving?”

  “Soon, yes,” I confirm. “Where do the workers usually leave from at the end of their shift?”

  The receptionist gives me an odd look. “There’s a worker’s entrance at the back. All of them come and go through there. Why? Didn’t you get everything you need?”

  “I got everything I need. But just in case,” I pull my business card from my pocket and place it on the desk, “if anything doesn’t seem on the level, be sure to call me.”

  I don’t watch to see if the man takes my card; I’m certain he’ll throw it out as soon as I leave, but I have to be sure to do my due diligence. Instead, I turn and exit Motion Motors without looking back. I walk around the building and find the small man-door beyond a chain-link fence.

  Across the street sits a bench in a small patch of dead grass, yet to be fully covered by snow. I pass the bench and walk down to a newsstand; I buy myself a paper and walk back to the bench. I don’t look forward to spending so much time sitting. If I stand still too long, I get restless and feel the need to move around. Plus, sitting so long in the cold is bound to put a pain in my bones.

  Regardless, I sweep off the snow, take a seat, and open the paper. I only read in small portions, keeping an eye on the man-door. I didn’t want to accidentally let Howard Sutton pass me while I engross myself in the goings-on of Red City. It is possible someone can see me, or Mister Oleander may tip him off, and Howard Sutton might leave early. I have to remain vigilant.

  Hours pass, and I finally hear the bell indicating the end of the day. I slightly lower the paper, keeping my face hidden while I watch the back of Motion Motors. Twenty minutes after the bell, people start to file out of the building, each man clean and dressed in street clothes. I watch as they exit, waiting for my mark.

  Howard is not the last to leave, but not by many. I watch as he approaches, crosses the street, and passes me without so much as a glance. I shift my eyes, careful to not move my head as Howard walks down the road. I stand, fold the paper and roll my shoulders as I watch him turn a corner. I take a step and maintain a steady pace as I tail him. I turn the corner and see him ahead. My eyes lock in, and I follow at a safe distance behind.

  The last thing I want is for Howard to suspect he’s being followed. I hang back and watch him walk, amazed at his trust in the world around him. Howard maintains his pace and doesn’t look over his shoulder at all. He doesn’t have the skills to know what to look for to ensure nobody follows him. Though I don’t believe he knows he has a reason to suspect such things.

  Howard turns down a street into an area similar to his original neighborhood. Large two-storey houses painted white or encased with bricks line the streets. I roll my eyes and continue to keep my eye on Howard. I watch as he enters a house in the center of the street, and I walk past as the door closes. I have his new home; all I have to do is catch him in the arms of another. It shouldn’t be a challenging endeavour; I don’t need to see them make whoopee. Just a kiss would suffice. While it would be easier to assume infidelity, the person in the house could be a sickly mother or a down-and-out sister.

  I walk around back and find myself a place to hide from the eyes of the house in question and the other homes in the area. The last thing I need is coppers coming around and being hauled in as a peeper. I’d be out of the big house almost as fast I’d be in, but Howard would be tipped off and I’d risk losing my mark altogether.

  The shrubbery I’m hiding in is thankfully free of thorns. I settle in and watch an open window for movement, pulling out my 35mm camera. A dame comes into view. She’s a natural beauty with black hair, a high nose and sharp cheekbones. If I were a gambling man, I’d put her at a younger age than Ruth.

  Howard walks over to the woman and plants a wet one on her. I snap a few photographs, making good and sure Howard’s face is visible. I put the camera in my pocket and wait for them to leave the window. Once I’m sure the coast is clear, I stand and leave the area. Home is back downtown, and I have a hell of a walk ahead of me.

  ***

  I open the door to my office, and Genevieve is there to greet me.

  “Any luck today?” she asks.

  I smile. “Genny—”

  “Genevieve,” she corrects

  “Genevieve, I got exactly what I need. I’m going to be in the darkroom developing my film. Hold all my calls until I come out. Also, could you give Missus Sutton a call? I’ll have photographs for her to look over.”

  Genevieve nods, and I leave the lobby for my office. I hang my overcoat and hat on the coat rack and take the camera to the side darkroom. I close the door and turn on the red bulb in preparation for developing the film.

  ***

  I open the door to the lobby and greet Missus Sutton. “Come on in,” I say as kindly as I can. The joy comes off as disingenuous as it is.

  Missus Sutton stands and pats down the front of her deep-blue dress. The look on her face is dour; she knows what I’m going to tell her before I have the chance to say a word.

  As before, Missus Sutton takes a seat at the front of my desk. I shake my head and guide her to the couch. I’ve always found people take lousy news better while sitting somewhere comfortable with enough room to move around.

  She sits, her eyes narrowing at me. She stands and moves over to the couch. “I came as soon as I could,” she says as soon as she’s comfortable.

  “I’m happy you did.”

  I walk to my desk and grab the envelope with the photographs. I hand it to her and take a seat on a cushioned rocking chair, eyeing her as she opens the envelope and views the contents.
As she glances at the first photograph, her eyes widen. A small squeak escapes her throat, and her hand darts to her mouth as the second photograph is revealed.

  “This can’t be true,” she says.

  “The photographs don’t lie, Missus Sutton.”

  She sighs and hangs her head. “I didn’t want to think it true, but here it is.” Tears begin to fall down her cheeks. “Who is she? How did he meet her?”

  “They met at a small clip joint between his work and home. He’d go there every night and try to pick up dames. One night he got lucky, and he hasn’t come back since.”

  “Oh dear,” Missus Sutton says. “What will the neighbours think?”

  “They’ll likely be happy to get a full night’s sleep.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I consider being subtle about knowing about their fights, but I believe she has a right to know.

  “Missus Sutton, it’s no secret to your neighbours that you and Mister Sutton have a rocky marriage.” I pause to consider my words. Dames and their waterworks always manage to make me uncomfortable; I have to make her feel at least a little better. “They question whether or not the two of you even like each other. My advice? File for divorce under the reason of abandonment and find a new husband, one you get along with and can genuinely love. It’ll be better for the both of you.”

  Missus Sutton raises her chin, and her gaze meets mine. “You’re right. But I need to see him, one last time.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise, Missus Sutton?”

  She shrugs and shakes her head. “I don’t know; probably not. But I have to. You don’t have to do anything. Just let me know where he is, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “I can’t do that, Missus Sutton.”

  “Why not?”

  “I tell you where he’s been living, and the next thing I know, I’m reading about a double homicide maybe even a suicide.”

  Her mouth gapes; her face contorts with insult and surprise. “Do you think me capable of such things?”

  “Of course not,” I reply. “But nobody imagines a person capable of such things until they’re under the blade, or the killer is arrested. It’s a moral and professional liability to tell you where he lives.”

  Missus Sutton glares at me for a moment before softening and sinking into the couch. “I understand.”

  “Good.”

  “Could you go speak to him for me then?” she asks, her voice excited. “Bring him to me, and we can talk. You can supervise to make sure nothing happens.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, grabbing a handkerchief from my pocket.

  “I’ll pay you extra,” she quickly says. Her words echo through my head. “Bring him to me, or at least do your best. If he comes, I’ll pay you extra; if you do your best and he doesn’t come, I’ll pay you your regular rate.”

  Every instinct in my body tells me to call it quits; let the woman have her tantrum and send her on her way. She’ll hurt for a while, and after a time, she’ll get over it and move on. It’s the right thing to do.

  But something in her eyes keeps my mouth shut. I can’t seem to deny her that one last wish. The way he abandoned her isn’t right, and I don’t like it. Howard Sutton leaving without saying a word doesn’t sit well with me, and Missus Sutton deserves much better than what she got. At least that’s the impression I get. I know she’s not innocent; nobody ever is. But that’s not the point.

  “I’ll help you,” I say. “But I have some conditions.”

  “Name them.”

  “I go to retrieve him once and only once. I’ll use every trick I can think of to get him here, but if he doesn’t show up, that’s the end of it. You move on with your life.”

  “Okey, I can agree to that.”

  “I’m not done,” I say. “If he does come, you are to be on the far side of the room, and he will be by the door. I don’t want anything to get heated or for anyone to get hurt. Finally, I will be present the whole time, and the door will be open. You’ll say what you need to say, and then he will leave and then you ten minutes after, giving Genevieve a chance to type you out a full invoice. Those are my conditions, and I will not negotiate.”

  She nods. “Okey. When should I come back?”

  “Genevieve will call you tomorrow if he agrees to come. Understood?”

  Missus Sutton stands. “I understand, Mister Baxter. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I avoid the urge to correct her and walk her through the lobby and to the exit. We say our farewells and I close the door behind her. Turning to face Genevieve, I sigh, hang my head and rub my brow.

  “Do you think she’ll come tomorrow regardless?” Genevieve asks.

  “Undoubtedly,” I reply. “I’ll be surprised if she’s not watching the place before I leave to retrieve him.”

  “When will that be?”

  “Afternoon. I want to catch him at his home and let him know his goose is cooked. That will be one more advantage in my direction. Getting him here to talk to her will require having a lot of advantages.”

  Genevieve eyes me, studying my face. “You’re worried.”

  “No, I’m not worried,” I say. “I’m frustrated. Something about this whole ordeal stinks to high heaven, and I don’t like it.” Genevieve gives me a confused look. “I’ve done jobs like this before. You know full well I’ve done jobs like this before. I do the job, give them the information and get paid for my work. I don’t throw both my mitts into the problem by being a damned mediator for a squabbling couple.”

  Genevieve smirks and begins to snicker. “Maybe you like her. Want to keep her for yourself.”

  The idea isn’t impossible. I did find myself attracted to her more than I should have, but that just means I’m a man with functioning eyes. Besides, my heart belongs to another.

  “No,” I say, “I don’t think that’s it.”

  “Maybe you’re not so hard-boiled as you think?”

  I chuckle. “Maybe.”

  Genevieve doesn’t reply; instead, she goes back to her work wearing an amused smile. I ignore her and go back to my office to type out my report. I have a lot of work to do, and I want it done by the time Genevieve fills out the invoice for Missus Sutton.

  ***

  I don’t have to follow Howard Sutton to his home. I remember where it is and when he gets home. I walk up the stone path and approach the door, knock three times, and the door opens to Howard Sutton standing before me.

  “Can I help you?’ he asks.

  “Mister Howard Sutton?”

  “That’s right.”

  I pull out my licence and buzzer, as well as my business card. I show him my credentials and give him the card.

  “My name is Detective Thomas Baxter. I’ve been hired by your wife to find you and see what you’ve been up to. I got to say, you’ve been a real pill, Mister Sutton.” I put my licence and badge back in my jacket pocket. “I’m here now to get you to talk to your wife.”

  His eyes widen, and his brow furrows. “I’m not going back to her. I’m in love, and I’m not going back.”

  “I didn’t suppose you would, Mister Sutton,” I say. “No, I just need you to talk to her. It’s not fair what you did, just leaving her like that without saying a word.”

  Howard Sutton lowers his head and scratches the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to leave that way. But it’s the only way I could leave and not risk being pulled back in.”

  “I understand, but you owe that dame an explanation. You get me?”

  “Not here.”

  “No, not here. At my office. It’s a neutral place where you two can talk and go about your business. I’ve already told Ruth I’m not giving her your address, and she will be waiting ten minutes after you leave before I allow her out the door. After tonight, she will never see you again, and you will never have to see her.”

  “Who is it, dear?” a voice from inside the house calls out.

  Her voice is as beautiful as she is. “It’s a sale
sman; I’m just telling him I don’t want what he’s selling.”

  I grin, knowing full well what’s going on. “Does she know you’re married?”

  Sutton’s face goes ash grey, and I suppress a laugh. The urge to laugh is soon replaced by the biting teeth of guilt.

  “If I don’t go, you’ll tell her, won’t you,” he says.

  “Thirty minutes after you leave for work.”

  “When should I be at your office?”

  “Tonight, no later than seven. My address and telephone number are on my card. Don’t be late.”

  I turn from the door and walk back toward the street. My gut is doing all sorts of loops. What I did was wrong, and I can’t shake the guilt. But I did what I could, and he would be at my office.

  ***

  I sit in my swivel chair, waiting for Mister Sutton. Ruth Sutton, as expected, arrived shortly after I’d left and spent the entirety of the afternoon sitting on my couch. As soon as I returned, she moved to the far end of the office and took a seat.

  “Is he going to be here?” she asks.

  “He doesn’t have a choice,” I say.

  The look in her eyes tells me she wants to know what’s going to happen if he doesn’t, but she backs off and doesn’t ask. I pull out my bottle of hooch and pour myself a glass.

  “Is it wise for you to be drinking during this?” Missus Sutton asks.

  “Darlin’, if I’m going to sit here and listen to a spat between ex-lovers, I’m not doing it with a sober head. It’s you who needs to maintain a clear mind, not me.”

  I drink the entire slug in one gulp and pour myself another. Peering up at the clock, I see it’s past seven in the evening. I shake my head, knock back my drink again and stand. “I’m sorry, Missus Sutton, I told him seven, and he didn’t show.”