Suburban Dicks

by Fabian Nicieza

  Their eyes were on the gun, so none of them were prepared for Benjamin Dobeck to move as quickly as he did when he pulled out a pistol he had hidden in an ankle holster.

  51

  YOU get out right now, you fucking faggot,” Bradley Dobeck shouted at the top of his lungs.

  Benjamin had just gotten behind the wheel of Steve Appelhans’s car, after Bradley had been placed in the backseat by Luke Olsen. Not cuffed, but sadly not gagged, either.

  It had taken a bit of cajoling to convince Luke to let Benjamin drive his grandfather home. He followed in his patrol car and would drive Ben back to his own car after they’d returned Bradley to Windrows. They had left Ben’s patrol car parked on Maple Avenue. Both of them knew they were breaking protocol.

  Eight minutes, that was all it would take.

  “You let me drive my own fucking car! You let me do what I have to do!” Bradley shouted again from the backseat. “You fucking faggot!”

  Benjamin shut his eyes for a second, wishing he could be anywhere else on the planet—and with anyone else on it.

  Seven minutes more, that was all it would take.

  Benjamin had long ago determined the best way to deal with his grandfather’s angry tirades was to ignore him. But this was different. He knew his grandfather hadn’t simply gone on a senility stroll. He had gotten into his friend’s car with the intention of killing someone.

  “I have to take care of our family,” Bradley said at a slightly lower volume. “Do you understand what I’m talking about, Benjamin? No. No, you don’t, because your father never trusted you enough to tell you the truth.”

  It was then that Benjamin Dobeck made the second worst choice of his entire life. He asked, “What are you talking about?”

  As they drove, Bradley talked. And Benjamin Dobeck listened. College Road East was empty except for the deer on the side of the road, their eyes reflected in the wash of his headlights. Benjamin learned the dark secret of his family. Sheriff Bertram Dobeck and his son, Bradley, getting called by Frank Wright and the other farmers. Seeing Singleton’s dead body lying on the ground. The Dobecks helping them to dismember the body. How everyone threw a part onto their truck and was told to bury it as close to the waterline as possible. To Bradley, there wasn’t a hint of remorse in the telling. He hadn’t killed Singleton, he was just making sure his friends didn’t get in trouble for it.

  “Okay, but how does killing a gas station attendant solve any of your problems?” asked Benjamin as they got closer to Windrows.

  “We warned those fucking dotheads to stop with the pool permit shit,” Bradley snarled. “But they ain’t stopping. This whole thing has depended on people being too stupid to ask questions, or smart enough to stop asking questions when we tell them to. But since this family won’t listen to our threats, we gotta make good on them. Kill the retarded nephew, but they’ll know the next one takes a real son or a wife. They’ll shut up.”

  “That’s fucking crazy,” said Benjamin.

  “Everyone would think it was a robbery, but the dotheads would know the truth,” he said. “They would drop that pool shit by the morning, guaranteed.”

  “The only guarantee is that you’re crazy,” said Benjamin. “You’re done for the night and I’m telling Dad about this.”

  “Fucking can’t see good at night anymore. Drove right into the curb.” His grandfather grew subdued. After a pause, he said, “But you can do it, Benjy.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “Take my gun and go kill the retard,” said Bradley.

  “What?”

  “Do it or our family is ruined. Do it or I tell your father that you’re a homo!”

  “What? Are you fucking serious?” shouted Benjamin. “You’ll out me to my father unless I kill someone? What the hell is wrong with you? You don’t think he knows by now?”

  “He denies it, but I caught you, haven’t I? I know you’ve been taking it up the ass since you were in high school!” Bradley shouted back. “Your father would love to hear all the wet details, don’t you think? You can’t stay clean in this! If we get found out, you think anyone’s gonna believe you weren’t a part of it?”

  “But I’m not a part of it!”

  “Even say someone buys that, then what?”

  “Maybe I’ll finally be free,” whispered Benjamin.

  “Free to suck any dick you want, but who is going to want you to suck their dick if they think your family is in the Klan?” Bradley laughed. “Ain’t you queers all touchy about politically correct shit?”

  “Shut up,” was the best he could muster.

  They reached Windrows just as Benjamin felt a panic attack licking his temples. He turned the car off and took the key out of the ignition.

  “Go get some sleep, Grandpa,” he said.

  “Give me my gun back,” said Bradley.

  “No fucking way,” said Benjamin. He palmed the pistol that had been lying on the passenger seat and tucked it into the back of his belt. “Go home.”

  Luke’s patrol car pulled into the parking lot.

  “If you keep that gun, then you accept the responsibility,” said Bradley to his grandson. “You protect your fucking family, you hear me?”

  “Go to sleep,” said Benjamin as he got out of the car.

  Bradley followed suit.

  Benjy dangled the keys to the car and said, “I’ll give these to Mr. Appelhans tomorrow.”

  “Give ’em to me, I’ll do it,” snapped Bradley, grabbing the keys with a quick snatch of his gnarled fingers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Benjamin let him keep the keys. “Okay, good night, Grandpa.”

  “Do something right for once in your life,” Bradley said before shuffling to the sliding back doors. Once in the vestibule, he flashed his electronic key card on the security pad and the interior doors slid apart. Benjamin watched his grandfather until the elevator doors opened and the old man got in.

  He finally breathed a sigh of relief and joined Luke in his patrol car.

  He sat down in the passenger seat. “Thank you,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” Luke said. “My parents are young still, but I always think of how much work it’s going to take when they get older.”

  “Yeah,” was all Benjamin could muster. They rode in silence back to his patrol car. Before Benjamin got out of the car, Luke reached across and held his hand. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”

  Benjamin muttered, “Yeah. Thanks again.”

  He sat down in his car and felt the press of his grandfather’s pistol against his lower back. As Luke pulled away, he removed the gun and held it in his left hand. Serial number filed off. The rifling in the barrel sanded down. He stared at it for what felt like a long time. He started his car.

  The weight of the gun in his hand.

  The weight of his grandfather’s words on his conscience.

  The weight of all the bad choices he had made in his life smothering him.

  His grandfather was an unhappy, angry, insane asshole, but he was right about one thing: if the conspiracy was uncovered—and it was inevitable that eventually it would be—Benjamin would never be able to avoid the stink of it. Would his father be retired by then and the department passed on to him? On top of the lies about his sexuality, could he live with yet another lie for the rest of his life?

  Benjamin was so tired of his life being controlled by fear.

  He didn’t remember making the decision to drive toward the Valero gas station, but he took a left on Edgemere instead of a right, and headed east on Grovers Mill Road. He passed High School North to his right and Community Middle School to his left, thinking of the sports exploits he’d had against his school rivals. He passed Millstone River School seconds later. He reached the intersection of Grovers Mill Road and Cranbury Neck Road and thought about turning right, away f
rom the Valero station.

  And he made another left.

  He passed the Valero and saw Satku there. Benjamin drove for several more minutes, he wasn’t sure how long, before returning to the gas station. The sweep of his headlights washed over Satkunananthan, who slowly rose from his stool inside the cashier’s stand.

  Benjamin knew he was making the worst choice in a long list of bad ones. But it was the only option left to him.

  If he did this, he would get their respect.

  If he did this, he could use it against them.

  He pulled his car alongside the island. He rolled down his window. He almost backed off when he saw the confused, blubbering look on the innocent half-wit Indian’s face as he pointed the gun at him.

  “I’m sorry,” said Benjamin. “I don’t have a choice.”

  “I don’t understand,” Satku said in his thickly accented English.

  The kid was terrified. He stammered in halting English that he would give him money. His uncle always said to just give them the money. He didn’t understand why the police were mad at him. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

  The younger man’s mewling wrenched Benjamin’s soul. He lowered and raised the gun at least three times. With each seeming reprieve and renewed threat, Satku blubbered more.

  Satku peed his pants.

  Benjamin could see the stain spreading across the front of the boy’s jeans.

  He almost laughed.

  He almost cried.

  He said “I’m sorry” again, then he squeezed the trigger and put a bullet clean through the center of Satkunananthan’s forehead.

  The blood sprayed across the top of the pump behind the boy. Satku collapsed as if both his knees had been unexpectedly ripped from his body. Benjamin got out of the car, standing up for a better angle. He shot the gun several more times, firing randomly. The bullets struck the building and vending machines behind in an undisciplined spray of gunfire. He took one last moment to glance at Satku’s vacant eyes. They didn’t bore into his soul. They just looked sad and confused. Probably no different than his own, Benjamin thought, as he drove off.

  The first red light he hit was on Clarksville Road. He tucked the gun under some workout gear in his gym bag. He finished the last hour of his shift waiting for the call to come in from dispatch telling him that Satku’s body had been found.

  The call never came.

  He checked in at the end of his shift, stunned that no one had pulled into the Valero for gas. He left the gym bag in his locker, thinking that, at least for now, it was the last place on the planet anyone would think to look for a murder weapon.

  Benjamin went home and was asleep long before Officers Niket Patel and Michelle Wu caught the call.

  * * *

  ■ ■ ■

  NOW, AS GARMIN lifted the .38 out of his gym bag, Benjamin knew he had less than a second to make a choice about what to do next. Surrender himself. Deny it was his and demand they prove it hadn’t been planted there. Or pull out the backup gun he’d hidden in his ankle holster just as his grandfather and father had taught him since the day he’d joined the force.

  And with a lifetime of bad choices under his belt, Benjamin was now an expert. He drew his gun. The small pistol had been intended as a last line of self-defense should he ever be disarmed in the field or unarmed while off duty. Since being confined to desk duty, he’d worn it for weeks with another intention in mind: to commit suicide in case the truth came out.

  He placed the Taurus 709 Slim under his chin. A 9-millimeter bullet would be sufficient to splatter his brains across the ceiling.

  “Put the gun down,” said Garmin.

  Neither of the men was armed. Rossi instinctively stepped in front of Andrea. Benjamin thought that his acting chief was a stand-up guy. It was something his own father would have done.

  “Seriously, put the gun down,” said Rossi.

  “Everyone . . . take a step back,” Benjamin said slowly.

  As she did, Andrea took advantage of Rossi shielding her and slid her phone from the side pocket of her purse. She started texting behind her back. Blind to the screen and the keyboard, she sent a perfectly spelled message to Kenny that said: Held hostage. Alert police. Need you to talk him down.

  She did the calculations. Two minutes for Kenny to convince the desk sergeant to let him in. Two minutes to move through the office gathering available police, have them make their way downstairs outside the door. Say, four minutes. That’s how long they had to keep Benjamin talking.

  “Officer Dobeck,” she said slowly, locking eyes with him, feigning a sympathy she didn’t feel. “I am sorry for what I did to your family.”

  He hesitated, unsure how to feel about that, or how to react to it.

  She continued, “And I’m also sorry for what your family did to you.”

  “You don’t know anything, lady,” he said.

  “I know a lot, Ben,” she said. “Can I call you Ben? I know plenty about not having the chance to be who you want to be.”

  She rubbed her belly slightly.

  “You ever heard of these things called contraceptives?” he asked.

  She laughed.

  “You caught Morana in New York, right?” he asked.

  She knew then she’d be able to keep the clock running.

  “I just helped,” she said.

  “It’s all public record, but you still downplay it?” he asked.

  She noticed he’d lowered the gun slightly from his chin. He was relaxing.

  “I think it’s all a team effort,” she said.

  “Like the team you have surrounding you now?” he asked.

  Then there was a knock on the door.

  “Benjy, it’s Kenny,” came Lee’s voice. “There are a lot of cops out here with guns and I have to tell you, I think half of them wouldn’t mind if I got killed in a crossfire.”

  Benjamin smiled. “It’s a lot more than half.”

  She heard Kenny snort on the other side.

  “Super,” he said. “Can I come in so we can talk about this? Seriously, if you’re going to go out, can I at least have the chance to say good-bye?”

  Benjamin motioned to Garmin. “Open the door. Just Kenny.”

  Garmin let him in. Kenny entered tentatively. “Some morning, huh?” he asked.

  “You knew last night, didn’t you?” Benjamin said.

  “Yeah,” admitted Kenny.

  “And you weren’t scared?”

  “Of you?” asked Kenny. “No. Not at all. I only wanted you to think about the story you have to tell.”

  “And you’re just the guy to tell it, right?” Benjamin hissed.

  “Of course,” said Kenny. “You’ve known me for over twenty years—when haven’t I been a self-serving schmuck? But this is about more than what I get out of it; it’s really about what you get out of it.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Freedom,” he said. “Maybe for the first time in your life.”

  Dobeck laughed. His hand gripped the gun more tightly; Rossi and Garmin took a half step forward. “How free am I going to be while I’m in jail?”

  “Your story in your words,” said Kenny. “Completely, totally, honestly. No filters. No father. No grandfather. Just you. Free to say anything you’ve ever wanted to say.”

  Benjamin hesitated.

  “But not if your jaw is splattered all over the ceiling,” Kenny pushed. “Then you’d have to write everything down for me and we both know you’re practically illiterate.”

  Andrea was sure that Kenny, as usual, had found a meaningful human moment only to shit all over it. She was as surprised as anyone when Benjamin Dobeck laughed, deep and hard, then lowered the gun.

  Rossi extended his hand carefully as Benjamin surrendered his weapon. Garmin moved in, handcuffs havi
ng appeared in his hands so quickly Andrea was taken aback that the bagel-eating lummox could move so smoothly.

  Dobeck’s hands were placed behind his back without resistance. He was cuffed and read his Miranda. Rossi and Garmin escorted him past Kenny and Andrea, then past the phalanx of armed police that had gathered outside the door.

  Andrea and Kenny found themselves alone in the locker room.

  “The half-assed way you get shit done is simply amazing,” she said.

  “I know, right?” Kenny replied with a shrug.

  52

  AN hour after Benjamin Dobeck’s arrest, and ten minutes after she’d gotten home, Andrea got a text from Kenny. Mayor Wu had scheduled a press conference for four in the afternoon.

  She texted her response: So?

  Her phone rang. She sighed, not wanting to talk to him right now. She answered.

  “So, you’re listed as being part of it,” Kenny said without waiting for a hello. “You, Rossi, and the mayor.”

  “That’s ridiculous, I’m a private citizen,” she said. “The mayor can’t make me attend a press conference.”

  “I think you’d generate more questions by not showing up than you would by being there,” Kenny said.

  “You just want to embarrass me.”

  “You got that right,” he replied, and then hung up.

  She felt the baby pushing. Its thrashing hadn’t stopped all day. She wriggled, trying to find some measure of comfort, which was impossible with the size of her belly. And with the size of her ass. And her aching hips. And her back, whose resting state had taken the shape of a question mark.

  She called Jeff.

  “I need you to get home by three thirty,” she said.

  “Is it the baby?” he asked.

  “No.”