by John Rector
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living, dead, or somewhere in-between, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2011 by John Rector.
All rights reserved.
Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
First eBook Edition: September 2011
Published by John Rector
Cover Design by John Hornor Jacobs
Praise for
The Cold Kiss
“A whirlpool of greed, betrayal, depravity, viciousness, and violence. Characters gradually reveal alarming proclivities, and portents of disaster accumulate like wind-driven snow. Rector’s spare, unadorned style makes these portents and proclivities even more jarring. A sly and very accomplished first novel.”
—Booklist
“Terrific narrative and real compelling style… a cross between James Crumley and A Simple Plan.”
—Ken Bruen Shamus Award-winning author of The Guards
“The Cold Kiss is a slice of tragicomic noir Americana, a spiraling tale of bad luck and viciousness leavened only by author John Rector’s savage glee at the ever-worsening state of his protagonists’ circumstances. One of the best debuts I’ve read in a very long time.”
—Scott Phillips, award-winning author of The Ice Harvest
“Tense, taut, and throat-grabbing… Reads like a cross between No Country for Old Men and Deliverance.”
—Eric Van Lustbader, New York Times bestselling author
“Clever plotting and spare prose… Dean Koontz fans will find much to like in Rector’s debut.”
—Publisher’s Weekly
“There’s no better place to spend a few imaginative hours these days than Rector’s snowbound motel.”
—National Review
Praise for
The Grove
"Tough, dark, and beautifully told. Great storytelling."
—David Peoples, screenwriter of Unforgiven, Twelve Monkeys, and Blade Runner
"Spare and evocative as a cornfield in autumn, The Grove marks the arrival of a haunting, powerful new voice in contemporary fiction. John Rector writes with deceptive grace, spinning out irresistible prose with a dark pulse between every line. This is psychological suspense at its most seductive. I loved it."
—Sean Doolittle, award-winning author of Dirt, Burn, Rain Dogs, The Cleanup, and Safer
Praise for
Already Gone
“The suspense and plot twists are gripping… This one is hard to put down.”
—Library Journal
"ALREADY GONE is a terse, moody thriller by one of the best new writers to enter the scene in a very long time... John Rector is a game changer."
—Spinetingler Magazine
THE
WALLS
AROUND
US
Contents
Introduction
A Sharp White Light
Rivers
The Walls Around Us
To Lay Down with Animals
Folded Blue
The Firebird
A Season of Sleep
Afterword
About The Author
Introduction
I’ve been debating for a while about whether or not to release any of my early short stories. Part of me thought it would be fun to dig them up and push them back out into the world, but until recently, a larger part of me believed they were better off left buried. It wasn’t until I began receiving emails from curious readers wanting to know where they could find these early stories, that I seriously considered putting a few of them together in a collection.
With the exception of one lone horror story, this is primarily a collection of mystery, noir, and suspense tales. Each one was written before I ever attempted a novel, and they appear here exactly as I originally wrote them and as they were first published. Some of these stories I hadn’t looked at for years, and reading them over again turned out to be a lot more fun than I was expecting.
For anyone interested in where a particular story was originally published, when it was written, or what went into the writing, I’ll go over each story in more detail in the afterword. For everyone else, I hope you find something here you enjoy.
Thank you for reading,
JR
A Sharp White Light
I’m usually better at hiding things, but Ava knew something was wrong even before I hung up the phone.
“That was the Department of Corrections,” I said. “My father died last night.”
Ava didn’t say anything, instead she rested her head against my shoulder. It was exactly what I needed. She knew how things were with me and my father, and there was no need for a big display of emotion.
I pushed the sheet back and reached for my pants on the floor.
“Stay home today,” she said. “You’re already late.”
“I can’t. Marcus will kill me. I’m already going to hear about this.”
“Yeah, but—” She paused. “Today, Jack? Stay home with me and Jacob. Marcus will understand.”
She pulled me back into bed, and I let myself be pulled. The morning sun slid between the curtains and dripped, soft and golden, across the sheets. It was nice, and I leaned my head against her stomach and stared up at the ceiling and the sharp white light reflecting in from the world.
For a long time, neither of us spoke. When Ava did, her voice was soft. “Did they say how he died?”
“You know how he died.”
“I know,” she said. “But was he peaceful? Did he say anything?”
That was just like Ava, always looking for some deeper meaning in everything. My father had lung cancer and had been hacking up clots of blood for months. He never went to a doctor and never said a word to anyone. When he did finally see a doctor during a required six month check-up, they told him it had spread to his brain. And still, he never talked about it. The idea of him saying something that would shine a clarifying light on his life, and somehow make everything okay just didn’t click.
He died and that was it.
“I didn’t ask,” I said.
I knew she wanted to say more. I could feel it just below the surface, and I wasn’t ready for that. I looked at the clock and pushed myself up.
“You sure?”
I nodded then looked at her in bed. The shape of her body cutting through the sheet almost made me change my mind, then I thought about Marcus and the diner. Saturday was our busiest day, and he’d be there alone. At seventy-six, Marcus wasn’t as quick behind the grill as he’d once been.
I grabbed yesterday’s shirt off the floor, smelled it, and slid it on. “I’ll be back around three,” I said, then leaned in close and kissed her on the forehead. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I don’t worry about you, baby.”
She smiled, but I knew she was lying.
On my way out I went into Jacob’s room. He was still asleep in his crib. I stood for a moment watching, then I reached in and put my hand on his chest. I knew from experience I could lose hours like that, but right then, feeling the slow back and forth of my son’s breathing, I couldn’t have cared less.
~
The bus let me off two blocks from the diner, and I walked the rest of the way. As I got closer I saw the flashing lights out front. There was a rooming house across the street, so it wasn’t unusual to see cop cars and fire trucks. But this time there were too many of them.
Something was different.
Rita, the morning waitress, saw me before I s
aw her. She met me halfway down the block.
“They finally did it,” she said. “They tried to burn down the God damn building.”
Rita was a conspiracy theorist.
“Lewis saw a couple of them sneaking around the alley last night after we closed up, and then this happens.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “We’re lucky no one was inside when it happened, otherwise someone might’ve been killed.”
Rita read crime novels.
“You know they’ve been trying to drive us out, and now, they might’ve succeeded. Marcus is too old to rebuild this place. He’s already said he’s going to Daytona to live with his sister and—”
I held up my hand and she stopped. “There was a fire?”
“Damn right.” She pointed to the rooming house across the street. “And they started it.”
“You don’t really know that, do you?”
“Lewis said he recognized one of them, and that’s good enough for me.”
Lewis worked the desk at the rooming house. He was a regular at the diner, and Rita always had a smile for him when he came in. For some reason she didn’t associate him with the people who lived in the house.
It was almost cute.
When we got to the diner I saw Marcus standing by the alley. He had his chef’s apron around his waist, and he looked thinner than normal. Rita yelled for him, and when he looked back and saw me he frowned.
“Where the hell have you been?”
I didn’t answer, didn’t even look at him. The entire back end of the diner was gone, all that was left was a mess of black and gray ash. “Did anyone see anything?”
Marcus motioned to Rita who’d wandered over to one of the firemen. “Her friend across the street said he recognized one of the guys, but it don’t matter. What’s done is done.”
“Insurance will cover it.”
He shook his head. “I don’t have time to wait for insurance.” He waved a hand toward what was left of the diner and looked away. “What do I care anyway? I’m sick of the place. I tried to give it to Phil, you know— after I’m gone, but he don’t want it.” He paused. “Maybe to sell it, I suppose.”
Phil was Marcus’s son. The last time I’d seen him, he’d come in the diner asking for money. There had been an argument that looked like it might come to blows. I’d almost jumped between them, but then Marcus stormed out to the cash register and emptied it and handed the cash to Phil who walked out without another word. That was a year ago at least, and from what I’ve heard not much has changed with him.
“I’d buy the place. You know that.”
“I also know you’re broke, that’s what I know.” He turned and pointed at me. “And I wouldn’t stick you with this place anyway. You need to get out and find something better for that boy of yours. Stop wasting your time around here.”
“This place fits me.”
Marcus waved me off and turned away. I watched him move in short steps back to the front of the diner. It was the first time he looked his age, but more than that, it was the first time I’d seen him look broken.
~
Rita had one of the firemen cornered and was telling him her theory about the rooming house. I could tell nothing was getting through, so I joined in.
“Any idea how it started?” I asked.
The fireman looked up at me. “You are?”
“I’m the chef.”
He looked over my shoulder at what was left of the diner and smiled. “The chef?”
Even on its best days the diner wasn’t much to look at, so I was used to that look. “You ever eat here?”
“Afraid not.”
“You missed out.”
The fireman frowned.
I smiled. “Who’s your boss?”
“What?”
I repeated myself. “I want to talk to someone who can tell me what happened.”
“I can tell you that.” He took off his helmet and adjusted the strap as he spoke. “Someone planted an incendiary device in the alley. There was a timer, but it must not have worked right. Instead of exploding, it caught fire. You’re lucky to have this much left. If it would’ve gone off like it was supposed to, it would’ve taken the whole building.”
~
I headed down the street to use the payphone outside Miller’s Drug store. I wanted to call Ava and let her know I was going to be late. If Lewis had seen someone, I wanted to talk to him before he picked up that day’s bottle. I looked at my watch. It was almost eleven.
It would be close.
I’d just reached the phone when I saw Lewis come out of the drug store with a brown bag under his arm.
The phone call would have to wait.
“The guy’s name was Charley Taylor,” Lewis said as I walked with him back to the rooming house. “I remember him because he was always late with his rent. Also, his mother used to come by almost every day. Man, you should’ve heard those fights. She would start in on him about how he dressed or the mess he made in his room. She was right about his room, too. Guy was filthy. Still, to have a mother like that… Almost felt bad for the guy.”
“But you didn’t?”
Lewis took the bag from under his arm and twisted off the cap. “Like I said, he was always late with his rent.” He took a drink and held it out for me. I shook my head. “He moved out a couple weeks later.”
“Did he leave a forwarding address?”
Lewis smiled. “Are you kidding? No one leaves a forwarding address.” He paused then said, “But I probably have his mother’s address. After he left, she sent me a check for his back rent. I keep all the canceled checks around for taxes.”
When we got back to the rooming house, Lewis disappeared into the office. I called Ava from the front desk and told her I was going to be late. She started to complain, but when I told her why she understood.
“Did you call the cops?” she asked.
“Lewis is looking for an address,” I said. “I don’t think they’ll do anything without something to go on.”
“Be careful.”
Lewis came out of the office. He smiled and waved a check in the air by his head.
“I’m always careful,” I said before I hung up.
The address on the check was in Five Points. I picked up the phone. “You know the number for the cops?”
Lewis smiled. He knew it by heart.
~
I called the police station and asked for Sergeant Greg Nash. He wasn’t there, so I talked to another cop who told me to come in and fill out a report. I asked when Sergeant Nash would be back.
“He’ll tell you the same thing,” the cop said.
“No, he’ll actually be helpful.”
The cop was silent for a moment then said, “Suit yourself, asshole.” And hung up.
~
Marcus let me borrow his car, and I used it to drive into Five Points. At one time or another, most neighborhoods were good neighborhoods. They could boast safe parks, nice lawns, and clean streets. Five Points was never one of those neighborhoods.
I found the address that was printed on the check. Vanessa Taylor lived on the third floor of an apartment complex that looked more like a prison than a prison. Thanks to my father, I’d seen enough of them over the years to know.
I parked the car and got out. Marcus kept a .44 under the driver’s seat. I hesitated, but decided to leave it where it was. I didn’t think I’d need it, but I was happy to have the option just the same.
When I got to the front door, I looked on the mailbox for a Taylor. The check said she lived in 302, but all the tabs were missing so I couldn’t verify. I buzzed 302 and waited.
After a long pause, the speaker clicked and a man’s voice came on.
“I’m looking for Vanessa Taylor,” I said. “Is this—” The door buzzed before I finished. I barely caught it before it stopped.
The smell inside the building was strong, a mixture of natural gas, cooked meat, and urine. It reminded me of places I
’d lived before I met Ava, before things changed for me. I wasn’t nostalgic.
There was an elevator at the end of the hall, but I held off for the stairs. I’d made it up the first two flights before I realized they were carpeted. The middle had been worn away to fiber, but you could still see the tiny gold flower design along the edges.
When I got to the top of the stairs I heard a voice to my left.
“Down here.”
I looked and saw a shrunken old man leaning out of a doorway. He was thin beyond life and wore a bright orange shirt. The combination made him look like an unlucky hunter. When I got close, he squinted at me.
“You from the Pizza Hut?”
I told him I wasn’t.
“God damn speaker doesn’t work. Can’t hear a God damn thing.” He went to close the door and I got my foot in before he could. “If you ain’t got my pizza, then I don’t have any use for you, boy.”
“I’m looking for Vanessa Taylor. Does she still live here?”
He eyed me for a moment, nodded, then turned from the door and shuffled back into the apartment, waving over his shoulder for me to follow. “Hey, Nessie?”
