by Jeff Vrolyks
Chapter Nineteen
Timothy was two miles away from Millie’s when he decided to ignore the threat and warn Eddie. Before he could, a phone call came in from a number he didn’t know, but it didn’t take but a brief glance to deduce who it was. Who gave Trent his number was a mystery. Perhaps he websurfed for it on his cellphone, the White Pages. Trent could have found the Stoddard’s home number, conned Phyllis or Phillip into giving up Timothy’s cell number. It must not have taken much cajoling, being that he had only left the diner seven or eight minutes ago. Timothy ignored the call; it went to voicemail where the caller chose not to leave a message. A moment later he received a text: Hey stutter-boy, if you warn Eddie or mention a word to him about me, I’m going to make your life a living hell. Have a safe drive home, mother fucker.
He decided he’d tell Eddie when he got home, threats be damned. Eddie was his friend, he couldn’t screw over a friend. And it was likely the threat from Trent was empty, anyway. The guy wouldn’t go out of his way just to make Timothy’s life miserable.
Timothy pulled his Camry into the Stoddard garage beside the LeSabre. Eddie was leaning against the trunk smoking a cigarette in one hand, tossing up his jade idol in the other, catching it and tossing it again, laughing with some unknown boy. Timothy got out of the car with a sense of urgency, approached Eddie who hadn’t a clue the bad news in store for him.
“Eddie, we n-need to t-talk.”
Eddie glanced over at him, then to Michael. “Give me a minute?”
Michael nodded.
Eddie mindlessly sat the idol on the trunk of Timothy’s Camry. The two sauntered away from the garage side by side, heads down.
“You have an enemy, Eddie.”
“Do I? Who?”
“Mae’s boyfriend. His n-name is Trent. I don’t know wh-what it’s about, but he looked pretty pissed. He w-wanted to know everything about you.”
“Shit. Did you tell him?”
“No! I w-wouldn’t do that to you!”
“Good man.”
“But…”
“But?”
“A girl phoned Mae, told her where you live.”
“What the fuck? Who is she?”
“I don’t know. I d-don’t know, Eddie. But Trent says you’ve b-been calling Mae and r-reading her diary. He’s p-p-pissed off at you. I’m afraid he’s g-going to do something to you. He kept asking m-me questions, so I got upset, and left. Came s-straight here.”
Eddie cupped Timothy’s shoulder. “I was right to call you a great friend. You truly are, brother. A great friend.” To himself he said, “Who the fuck is this girl who knows about me? I’ll have to find out.”
Timothy waited for Eddie to look at him before saying, “Eddie, I got a f-feeling back at Millie’s. I’m p-probably wrong, but damn if I d-didn’t feel it.”
“And what is that?”
“That Trent guy… he’s bad. Really bad.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“No, I mean… I wouldn’t be sur-surprised if he… I don’t even think I c-can say it.”
“Tell me.”
“He has the eyes of a m-murderer. If I learned that he w-was the SacTown Slayer, I wouldn’t be s-surprised. Stupid, huh?”
“It’s not stupid. But I think you’re wrong.”
Just then a white Corolla rolled over the property gate track. Phillip waved at the boys, who waved back. He stopped when he realized the two-car garage was at capacity. He rolled the window down and said, “I’ll just park in front of the house.”
“No you won’t,” Eddie said and hustled to the Buick, pulled out and parked a good deal away from the garage, got out. Phillip pulled in with a hand waving appreciatively out the window.
“We’ll talk more about this later,” Eddie said to Timothy. “I think we’re safe, at least for now.”
Timothy nodded.
Michael was pacing around the front of the garage looking mightily bored, greeted Phillip as he got out of the Toyota, asked how Home Depot was.
“Busy! It was a wonderful trip, though. Today was the first day in nearly two years that I drove! I never thought I’d miss driving!” He chuckled, pushed the fedora down his forehead and headed toward the house, said to Eddie in transit, “Got the locks, son. No rush, whenever you get a chance.”
“I’ll get right to it.” Eddie gestured Michael to come here. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Cool.”
“Timothy, be back in twenty minutes. I promised your grandpa I’d install new locks on the doors.”
“Okay, cool. See you then.”
The two left the Stoddard farm and got down to business. Eddie asked if he had anything to write on: Michael didn’t but he had a cellphone with a notepad application, and brought it up.
“Something came up,” Eddie said, “and Trent needs to die A.S.A.P. If not, it might be me who ends up dead. He’s after me.”
“You? What did you do to him?”
“I don’t know. Well, I do know but it’s personal. Sorry, bud, I can’t tell you everything. In time I will, I swear. But for now you have to trust me, Trent wants me dead. Can you take care of him tonight?”
“I’d love to. This will be the first murder I look forward to. Fucking guy killed David and Rebecca… I’m going to take my time on this one, enjoy my work.”
“Good. Do me a favor and when you’re killing him, tell him Eddie says have a nice eternity rotting in hell.”
Michael chuckled. “I will.”
“Trent lives alone, so that should make it easy. It’s an apartment, second floor. I happen to know that he keeps a spare key under a potted plant on his patio. His address is—write this down—1395 Woodland Crest Avenue, apartment number 215. I don’t know what his schedule is on Saturdays, so use discretion. Stake the place out. He drives a silver Audi convertible. If it’s not there, go inside and wait for him. If it is there, give me a call and I’ll set something up, some kind of trap to get him out of the place for a while. Go when it’s dark.”
Michael finished entering the address on his phone. “How would you pull that off?”
Through Mae Clark, Eddie thought, but didn’t say it. If he mentioned Mae, he wasn’t sure what kind of impact that would have on Michael. She was a volatile subject. He wouldn’t be surprised if Michael abandoned his plan in the wake of a revelation as such, the reason being that it would break Mae’s heart or something.
“I have my ways,” Eddie said. “We’ll keep in touch. How soon can you be at that address?”
“Shit,” Michael said and palmed his forehead. “How am I going to get there?”
“Shit.” Eddie slammed his palms on the steering wheel. “Let’s think this through.” He looked over at Michael. “How comfortable are you driving a car?”
“Very. I have a driver’s permit, drive all the time for my parents.”
“Excellent. I won’t need the Buick this evening. I’m loaning it to you.” Eddie slowed down and made a wide U-turn. “What’s tomorrow, Sunday? Just drop it off sometime in the morning, I’ll give you a ride back.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. It’s the only way.”
“Cool. I’ll drive slow. I won’t get pulled over.”
“I’m counting on you.”
