Titan Clash

by Sigmund Brouwer

  The screws were tiny. I started on the third one.

  “And you’re thinking it’s in the clock?” Tom asked.

  I unscrewed the fourth screw. The bottom of the clock fell into my hand. Along with a computer disk.

  “I’m not thinking it,” I said. I grinned as I held up the disk. “I know it.”

  chapter twenty

  Ike Bothwell drove a gleaming black Blazer 4x4—I was his passenger in it Saturday at noon as we went to visit his brother, Ted, outside of Turner.

  It was a great day, at least in terms of weather. Windless and cloudless, the Indiana sky stretched deep blue above the distant fields. With the sunroof open, I could see straight up. Air flowed over us in a rush of sound and sensation.

  In terms of anything else, I was less sure how great the day was.

  It might have been the same for Ike. He seemed impatient and had a hard time keeping the Blazer at the speed limit. The trees and fenceposts that lined either side of the road were as much of a blur as the morning had been.

  At 5:00 AM, after finding the computer disk in the cuckoo clock, Tom and I had plugged it into his computer. We soon discovered that Tom didn’t have the application to open the disk.

  Tom managed to go back to sleep. Not me. I did a lot of pacing back and forth until 8:00 AM when I decided it was finally late enough to call Ike Bothwell. The dealership, I guessed, had the computer program that would read Dad’s disk, and I wanted Ike to help me.

  Ike was interested but couldn’t meet me until about 11:00, so I had to pace back and forth a bunch more. I couldn’t wait to find out what was on the disk. What mattered so much to Dad that he had to hide it in a cuckoo clock?

  During that pacing, I asked myself again and again if I should just drive up to South Bend and ask Dad. But I told myself again and again that if he hadn’t said anything to me about it earlier, there must be some reason for his secrecy.

  Finally, Ike picked me up in his Blazer and we drove to the dealership.

  When we plugged in the computer disk, we found good news and bad news. The good news was that we could read the disk. The bad news was that it was a complicated spreadsheet—hundreds of numbers in dozens of columns—that just raised more questions.

  There was, however, one person who could read those numbers and make sense of them, Ike told me grimly. And that’s where we were headed.

  Suddenly, Ike turned onto a long driveway. The house at the end looked like a southern mansion, with big columns on each side of the door. It gleamed white and clean in the sun; from a distance it looked like a beautiful diamond set in the emerald green of the perfect lawn that surrounded it.

  Ike parked beside the garage. He hopped out without taking the time to close the sunroof. With the sky so blue, there was zero chance of rain.

  I followed Ike up to his brother’s house. We stood in the shade of the wide porch next to the gleaming columns as we waited for someone to answer the doorbell.

  Ted did not make us wait long.

  He seemed surprised to see us but covered it quickly. “Come on in,” he said, opening the door wide. Ted was in his sixties and had been divorced for years. He was taller and slimmer than his brother Ike. Instead of Ike’s choice of checkered shirts and jeans, Ted usually dressed as if he’d just stepped out of a men’s fashion magazine. Even on a Saturday at home, he wore navy slacks and a silk shirt. “It’s good to have company,” he added as we walked through the door.

  In the wide hallway, our footsteps echoed loudly.

  Ted ushered us to a sitting area. The chairs were expensive leather, and the bronze statues made equally expensive-looking decorations.

  “What can I do for you?” Ted asked. “I mean, Ike, you hardly ever drop by. And Jack, I don’t think you’ve been here before, have you? I don’t expect you two just happened to be in the area.”

  Ted’s smile didn’t seem real. His teeth were Hollywood white, and his face was so smooth and tight it looked almost shiny. I knew he’d had a lot of work done on his teeth, and people said plastic surgery kept the wrinkles away. And his hair was unnaturally dark—probably dyed.

  “Well, Ted,” Ike began, “how about we go into your office. I’ve got something on a computer disk I’d like you to see. Maybe you can help us make some sense of it.”

  Ted shrugged. His million-dollar smile looked forced but never left his face.

  “Sure, brother,” he said, “I’ll do my best.”

  Ted Bothwell’s second-story office showed the same expensive taste as the rest of the house. His desk and the bookshelves were made of deep, rich walnut wood. More bronze statues were artfully scattered around the room. Oil paintings filled the walls. A large picture window opened onto the landscaped gardens below.

  Ted flicked on his computer.

  Ike handed him the disk.

  “What do we have here?” Ted asked as he inserted the disk into the computer.

  “I’m not sure,” Ike said, choosing his words carefully. “It’s accounting stuff. Which, as you know, is just a jumble of numbers to me.”

  Ted nodded. Ike ran the sales side of the dealership, but Ted was the businessperson who held it together.

  The hard drive whirred. Ted leaned over his desk and made some quick movements with the computer’s mouse.

  “You’re right,” Ted said a few seconds later. “This is an accounting spreadsheet. Looks like it’s information from the dealership.”

  “That was as near as I could tell,” Ike said. “The only thing I could see for sure was the date it was last adjusted.” The computer had recorded the date the files were last opened.

  “Looks like these numbers were last touched about five weeks ago,” Ike continued. “If I had to guess, I’d say that disk holds a backup of all the accounting files for the dealership.”

  Ted clicked the mouse back and forth without saying anything. After another minute, he nodded. “I’d say you’re right.”

  “Excuse me,” I said. “Do you mind if I get a glass of water?”

  Ted spoke without taking his eyes off the computer screen. “Sure, downstairs in the kitchen.”

  I left them in Ted’s office.

  I headed to the kitchen for water. But I hurried. I wanted to give myself some time to look around.

  On my way to the kitchen, I passed a bedroom. Silently, I slipped inside to check out the closet, guessing there would be shoes in there.

  What I saw first was a pair of Nikes. I had hoped I might find one shoe without a lace, and the other with a match to the pieces Sheriff Mackenzie had taken from my home as evidence the night someone had broken in. But both shoes were laced. And both shoelaces were new and clean.

  The Nikes, though, were caked with dried mud.

  I picked up the shoes and walked back toward the office.

  chapter twenty-one

  When I entered the office, Ted was still at his desk facing the computer. Ike was in a chair across from the desk.

  Without saying a word, I gave the mud-caked shoes to Ike.

  Ike set them in his lap.

  I quietly sat in another chair. I was sad for Ike.

  Ike studied the shoes for a long time while his brother watched him.

  I could see from Ted’s face that he knew what Ike knew. But Ted didn’t say a thing. Neither did I. We both waited for Ike.

  “Quite the rainstorm we had the other evening,” Ike finally said. “Don’t suppose that was when these shoes got muddy?”

  “I go running every evening,” Ted answered.

  “Funny,” Ike said. “These laces are new. No mud. Like maybe you replaced them since the rainstorm.”

  “Laces break,” Ted said.

  Ike sighed. “I wish I could believe you, but I’m up against a few things that say otherwise.”

  The room got so quiet that the whir of the computer’s hard drive sounded like a jet on a runway.

  “See,” Ike said, “Sheriff Mackenzie’s got a couple of pieces of a muddy shoelace that we
re probably once in a shoe just like one of these. I’m guessing that these days the police can match the mud from the shoelace to mud from a flower bed at the Spencer house.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Ted asked. But Ted knew. I could tell by the rigid way he held his shoulders and neck.

  “Someone broke into the Spencer house. Someone who had a key to get in. Someone who, say, could have easily borrowed Jack senior’s keys down at the dealership when his car was being serviced. Someone who could quickly run out to make a spare set and return the keys within the hour. That same someone tied Jack Junior up with a muddy shoelace that could have come from one of these shoes.”

  “The same someone,” I added, “who could pay Frank Gowan to rig the brakes on my parents’ car—and the same someone who could destroy a work order without getting caught.”

  Ted stood, bracing himself by placing his hands palms down on his desk. “Are you accusing me?!”

  “Sit down,” Ike said in a tired voice. “I’ve known you all my life. I can tell when you’re pretending to be angry.”

  After a moment, Ted sat.

  “When Jack brought me this disk this morning,” Ike said, still in a tired voice, “it didn’t take me long to see what it meant. It’s our dealership’s accounting information. Within twenty minutes I was able to figure out why the dealership has been losing so much money.”

  I’d sat with Ike as he went over the figures. Fake loans had been set up for people who had never bought cars from the dealership. Cars and trucks that didn’t exist were listed as inventory. Payroll payments had been made to employees who weren’t employees. And it looked like it had been happening for years and years and years—a couple of thousand dollars lost in one spot, a couple of thousand in another. Until it added up to close to half a million dollars.

  “The man who did it is in jail,” Ted said. “Jack Senior.”

  “Trouble is,” Ike answered, “there was something else on this disk. Bank account numbers. Accounts that belong to you.”

  Silence.

  “So I knew I needed to make this visit,” Ike said. “And I asked Jack to look around for a pair of shoes with a missing shoelace. Because I still couldn’t believe my own brother could do this to me.”

  “Believe it then,” Ted said. He opened his desk drawer. He pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Ike’s chest. “And if you still can’t believe it, here’s more proof.”

  chapter twenty-two

  “Why?” Ike asked. His voice didn’t sound like the voice of a man facing a pistol. “Why steal from me? If you didn’t think you were getting paid enough, all you had to do was ask.”

  “Why?” Ted said. “I’ll tell you why.”

  Ted’s eyes narrowed and his cheeks tightened. He looked like a mean dog.

  “It’s your dealership,” Ted said. “Even though I’m your brother, I’m just a paid employee. I’ve watched you take the profits for years.”

  “Your bonus every Christmas has matched what I took in profit,” Ike said. “And I was the one who risked the money to start the dealership in the first place.”

  “You’re married to a beautiful woman who loves you,” Ted continued, not showing any sign he had heard Ike. “My wife left me years ago. Left me so alone.”

  “Your wife left you because of the way you treated her. She begged you to go to counseling with her to help your marriage work out.”

  “You have everything I don’t,” Ted continued in his mean, hateful voice. “Your life is so much better than mine. And I despise you for it.”

  “I have diabetes, I weigh too much and I’ve lost my hair,” Ike said, still in a calm steady voice. “Your house is bigger than mine. You have everything you need. All the bad things in your life have happened by your choice. How can you be jealous? How can you say my life is better than yours?”

  “Because you don’t fall asleep every night thinking about an old couple who nearly died in a car accident that was really your fault.”

  “What?” Ike said.

  “Who do you think was driving—drunk— that night?” Ted said. “And how many lives did I mess up because of it?”

  This was making zero, zero sense to me. Ike, too, sat with his mouth open in surprise.

  “It wasn’t Jack?” Ike asked.

  Jack? My dad? Some other Jack? What were they talking about?

  “You figure it out,” Ted said. “I’m tired of this conversation.”

  He got up and walked around the desk, keeping the pistol pointed at Ike’s chest. I wondered if I should make a dive for the pistol. But I only wondered for a second. Fingers can pull triggers faster than bodies can leap across rooms.

  “Are you going to kill me?” Ike asked without fear.

  “No. Murder would be stupid when all I have to do is get on an airplane and leave the country. I’ve got your money. Without it, the dealership is in big enough trouble. I’ve taken enough from you.”

  “I see,” Ike said calmly.

  Suddenly Ted screamed. “See! See! This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re about to lose everything you have, and you just sit there with a smile. Life is horrible! Figure it out! Suffer like I do!”

  Just as suddenly as Ted started screaming, he stopped.

  “No,” he said, “I’m not going to kill you. But it might be a while until someone finds you.”

  chapter twenty-three

  After taking Ike’s keys from him, Ted pushed us into his storage shed. It was built of brick, and he locked it on the outside with a padlock. The only window in it was on the back wall, about as high as I could reach. But reaching it wouldn’t help. It was a small window. Maybe a basketball could get through, but that would be about it. I certainly couldn’t. And Ike and his big belly certainly couldn’t either.

  Shortly after Ted slammed the door shut on us, we heard him start Ike’s Blazer. We heard the motor purr as he drove it around behind the shed. He parked it on a wide round patio made of flat stones set into the ground. Then we heard silence as he shut it off, followed by the click of the truck door and a slam as he shut it again.

  “He’s hiding the truck from the road and driveway,” Ike said. “No one will guess we’re here.”

  I nodded glumly. “And it’s not like this is a luxury hotel.”

  It wasn’t. The most I could do was step once or twice in any direction. There was a lawn mower in the corner, and rakes and other garden tools hung on one wall. Another wall had sports gear on shelves— an old tennis racquet, a can of tennis balls, a baseball glove. It was hot in the shed, with a horrible smell of rotting grass from the underside of the lawn mower.

  “Could be worse,” Ike said. “We could be stuck in the trunk of a car, or be dead.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It could be worse.”

  I turned to the door and banged my shoulder against it. It didn’t budge. When I turned back, Ike was moving boxes and gardening equipment.

  “Might as well make ourselves comfortable,” he said. He grinned. “In fact, it might be a nice break to stay away from the dealership on a Saturday.”

  “Ike,” I said, “your brother is driving to the airport so he can disappear with your money.”

  “Not good,” Ike said.

  “So how can you just sit there so calmly?” I said. “I’d be going nuts.”

  “Would it do any good? Would it bring Ted or the money back?”

  “No, but—”

  “Jack,” Ike said, “here’s the deal about life. It’s difficult. You’re always going to have problems to solve. And most important, God doesn’t owe you anything. Once you realize that, and once you decide to always do the best you can with what you have, life isn’t that tough anymore.”

  In the shaft of sunlight that came through the high small window, Ike must have seen that I didn’t quite understand.

  He smiled. “If you’re expecting it to be hot in the middle of an Indiana winter, you’ll be disappointed. Right? But if you dress in warm clothes becau
se you know there’s snow on the ground, the cold won’t bother you. You know you just have to get through the winter.”

  I thought about that and nodded slowly.

  “Think of life here on earth as a training camp for your soul,” Ike said. “The way God designed it, all the troubles and temptations we face are things to help us learn and grow. He’s helping us get ready for the journey our souls take after we die. If you’re here on earth expecting life to pamper you, you’ll always be disappointed.”

  Ike’s voice became softer. “And after enough disappointment, you’ll become old and bitter like my brother.”

  “I think I get it,” I said. And I did. I felt my own anger at God sliding away. “Dad’s in jail, Mom’s in the hospital, and I can’t play basketball. None of that’s too exciting. But there are lots of people who have it worse. And maybe a year from now...”

  “Do the best you can with what you have,” Ike said.

  “Yeah,” I said. I looked for a place to sit. I had to move a can of gasoline so I could lean my back against the wall. I shook the can but heard nothing.

  “Too bad this is empty,” I said, joking. “Otherwise we could use it to start a fire and send up a smoke signal. That would bring someone to find us.”

  Ike gave me a strange look——as if I had just given him a great idea. He pulled his cigar lighter out of his pocket.

  “Come on,” I said. “Like we’re going to burn up the shed with us inside? Just so the fire department can find our bodies?”

  Ike stood up. He dusted the seat of his pants with his hands. Then he pushed a box beneath the window.

  “Stand on this,” he said. “Tell me what you see outside.”

  I stood on it and pushed up on my tiptoes, leaning against the wall to keep my balance. I could just see over the windowsill.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Nothing? No garbage can filled with junk we could burn?”

  “Nothing,” I said, “except for your Blazer.”

  “Ouch,” Ike said.