Stop it.
She chased away the thought by focusing on her measured breath.
She was nearing her desired turnaround when a garage door a block ahead rumbled open. From what she could see, the garage was a cluttered mess. It could only be due to some miracle that the owner could fit his vehicle inside.
She was only half paying attention. That was until the car pulled out of the driveway and headed for the neighborhood exit. It was the same battered sedan and taciturn driver with the beard she’d seen days before. She figured he’d been casing the neighborhood, and she’d made a point to double-check her alarm each night because of it. She’d read that burglaries were up 75 percent in New York City, though her little hamlet was far from that sprawling metropolis. Still, it was like she could feel the uptick coming around the corner.
She breathed a little easier, and once again attempted to wave at the passing vehicle, but something in the man’s eyes, which were now looking at her, froze her right to the spot. He drove on as she tried to shake the feeling. It was the strangest thing. So visceral, that feeling. As if she’d looked into the man’s soul and seen the corner where he stashed every demon.
She walked on, but her steps were less sure than the ones she’d left behind.
Chapter Eight
Sandy Kaplan
They questioned him for three hours. Two of those hours were spent waiting. It looked more to Sandy like they were trying to figure out what to do with him. There’d been the flutter in his gut when it hit him that he might be considered a murderer. He was the only witness. Not exactly a witness to the crime, if it even was a crime, but it was he who found the body. He couldn’t get the stillness of it out of his head. Or the idea of the head frozen in its place, forever staring at the far wall.
“You’re free to go, Mr. Kaplan. We’ll let you know if we have further questions,” the cop said, staying a good ten feet from him.
Everyone in the station seemed on edge, as if they were all bracing for something to come crashing down onto the building. Some were wearing masks. There was a drunk man in the corner yammering about the injustice of it all, and about God and judgment and sins and the price of aftershave and cigarettes. No one paid any attention to him, except Sandy.
It seemed to Sandy that one thing and one thing only had everyone in the police station’s rapt attention: X-99. Every television screen in the place was playing the news. Every computer screen seemed to be tuned in as well.
He turned to thank the police officer for his diligence. The man had already shut the door and cocooned himself inside. How strange. He’d been inside the station once before, when one of his social media-happy Driver’s Ed students ran off the road and killed a cow. It’d taken months to get all the hair out of the grill. That day there’d been bustle and boredom alternating in quick currents. Today felt like only doom. An eternal waiting game.
He found his car and fumbled for the keys. If he’d been closer to home he would’ve walked. It was important to process what he’d seen. That stiff, still body...
He thought back to what he’d told the cop. Principal Inglewood was a man of high spirits, always laughing, rarely serious like everyone thought. “He was a good man. A fair man,” Sandy had said.
“I’m sure he was,” the cop replied, jotting down his notes mindlessly, like a secretary or a stenographer.
What took precedence in a cop’s mind over a death?
“How well would you say you knew Dr. Ingleham?”
“Inglewood.”
“Inglewood. How long did you know him?”
“Since he came on, so about ten years.”
The cop yawned, open-mouthed, loudly. “You know if he had any problems at home?”
“Not that I know of. He wasn’t married and had no children.”
“Did he have any financial difficulties?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Ever say anything about being worried, stressed? Something taking an emotional toll on him—sending the students home for the rest of the year?”
“Not that I know of.”
Another yawn. “Uh huh.”
Sandy fought back the urge to indulge in a yawn himself.
“Anything else you can tell us?”
Sandy thought for a moment. He really didn’t know diddly about Principal Inglewood.
Three times he tried to put the old key in the keyhole to unlock the car door. Three times he failed. Damn shaking hands. Finally, he gave up. It would be safe at the police station. Besides, he had an extra at home. He supposed he could walk back in the morning.
The decision made, he checked that his laces were double knotted before calculating the quickest route in his head. He knew every main, side, and back road in town. Thanks to his years of Driver’s Ed teaching, Sandy was his own GPS.
Five miles—five and a half tops—to get home.
Once his feet hit sidewalk pavement, his internal GPS kicked in and the active part of his brain settled in on the happenings of the day. The body. The head turned.
He tried to shift the hanging corpse to the end of the line in his subconscious, and instead think about dinner. He’d missed the grocery store on his detour to the high school.
But that body came back and pushed all thoughts of dinner aside.
No spouse. No children.
Hanging there, stiff, still. How long would he have remained that way if Sandy hadn’t made that detour?
And what in Sandy Kaplan’s life ensured that he himself would avoid that same fate?
Chapter Nine
Chuck Yarling
The garage door rumbled open and Chuck inhaled the pre-summer air that gushed in. A breezy one. Tough headwind. Screw it. He needed the ride.
The road bike seemed to call to him. If he were more sentimental, Chuck might’ve caressed the handlebars before taking it down from the overhead rack. The bike was one of the lightest on the market, and he felt the anger well up as his arms shook from the brief exertion. It was the weakness he hated the most. It kept him from doing all the things that he loved. Maybe a ride was too much. How long had it been?
Well, if he wasn’t going for a ride, he might as well make sure the bike got a good servicing. Not much else to do on this beautiful day. Still, he might get the nerve to saddle up. He’d have to work up the nerve again. The last fall had put him out of commission for longer than he cared to admit.
He was well into his task—checking each connection, testing the brakes, making sure there was a fresh battery in the odometer—and getting ready to test the tires when a familiar voice came from the driveway.
“You hear what the president said last night?”
It was his neighbor and one-time close friend, Lynwell. Lynwell seemed to forget that they were barely on speaking terms.
“Morning, Lyn,” Chuck said, trying to sound cordial.
“Don’t give me that ‘Morning, Lyn’ nonsense. I asked you if you heard what the president said last night. I’ll bet you did since you’re the only friend I’ve got who dared vote for the bastard.”
Chuck wondered if now was the time to tell his old friend that they were no longer friends. He thought better of it. There were better things to think on.
“I don’t watch the news much anymore,” he said instead, keeping his eyes on the task at hand, imagining Lynwell’s eyes bugging out of his eye sockets.
“You’ve got to be kidding me! The world is going to hell and you’re not watching the news? What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing’s the matter with me. I don’t believe in getting worked up over a bunch of punched-up headlines, that’s all.”
He was trying to keep his voice on the midline. No sense getting angry. But the zen he’d felt minutes earlier was quickly evaporating.
“Chuck Yarling, ten years ago you would’ve crowed from the rooftops about the injustices going on up in Washington. Why, I’ve got a laundry list of crimes the president has committed that I know my old pals a
t the Pentagon are gonna dive on it like a bunch of starving seagulls when this thing is over.”
Lynwell either didn’t remember or didn’t care to remember that he had no more friends at the Pentagon. And even when he did, he’d been a bonified paper pusher with an ego the size of Wyoming. How had Chuck ever been friends with such a man? What had they had in common?
“Lyn, I’ll leave that business to you. I’m just out here getting the bike cleaned up. Thought I’d take a spin. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Lynwell looked up at the sky, cupping a hand over his eyes. “Hadn’t noticed. And what are you doing on that bike, anyhow? Didn’t you almost kill yourself—”
“Lyn, I don’t want to be rude, but you’re making it mighty hard to be polite. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to enjoy my day.”
Lynwell’s balled-up fists went to his hips. “Be my guest. But you’re not twenty-two anymore, you know. I’ll find someone who cares about this piss-poor world we’re living in.” He stomped off to find some willing martyr to fall on the Lynwell sword.
“You know what? I think I will go for that ride,” Chuck said to the bike, drum rolling the seat for good measure.
Twenty minutes later, he was saddled up and cruising down the quiet lane. Even though he knew his rump would be sore, as well as his legs and probably his back, he didn’t care. He’d relish every single darned ache and pain and mark it as a new beginning. He needed this. He needed this badly.
He took his sunglasses from his collar and slipped them on. There. The final touch. He felt like an athlete again. Just him and the road now. The sense of freedom and accomplishment almost overwhelmed him.
Steadying his nerves, he pointed the prow of his ship out toward the neighborhood. Such a wonderful, quiet day. Nothing could harm it.
The car came smashing through, sending him flying into the air, knocking off his shoes.
Chapter Ten
Fabian Moon
He was rich. Maybe not Warren Buffet rich, but he was richer than he’d ever been.
Fabian counted the money slowly, savoring every bill. When had dollar bills ever looked more beautiful? He could write a poem to the mighty American dollar bill. The news was saying that the dollar would take a hit because of the pandemic. Fabian didn’t believe it. Lies. All lies.
“Hey, where do you want me to put these?” It was one of Iggy’s friends, a stoner who went by the name Fuzz. He paid Fuzz in cash. That was perfectly fine with Fuzz.
“Leave them behind the counter.”
“You sure?”
Fabian was sure Fuzz was already high as last year’s fireworks. He’d need to do something about that. Fabian didn’t care what a man did on his off hours, but if he’s putting in time at Moon’s Pawn Shop, he’d better be clean and sober. But now wasn’t the time. At any rate, Fabian was in too good a mood.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks for your help tonight.”
Fuzz bobbed his head, his long hair swaying. “No problem. See you tomorrow.”
Fabian followed his contractor to the back and locked the door. He was alone. Alone and dripping with dollar bills. And not just dollars. Twenties. Fifties. Even hundreds!
And he had Iggy to thank. That stupid, half-drugged-out brother was the one to reveal the silver lining. Well, who could’ve predicted it? Not Fabian.
It turned out there were all manner of items in short supply all over town. Toilet paper was the obvious choice. But people weren’t leaving their homes. Not only was he, through Iggy’s channels, bringing in the goods and selling them from the shop, he was starting a delivery service. So on top of the premium he was charging for the goods themselves, there was a delivery fee that people were only too happy to pay. Fabian had enlisted a pair of college students, clean-cut and fully trained on the CDC’s requirements for delivery staff. The customers appreciated the high level of service and the delivery boys appreciated the cash. Fabian found that the work was not only consuming in a brain-fulfilling way, but also provided a challenge that he relished. Inventory and delivery were mudpie easy for a man who’d once been in charge of supplying a regiment’s list of needs.
It wasn’t glamorous work. He didn’t care. People needed this stuff and Fabian Moon was only too happy to oblige.
He counted the boxes that Fuzz had delivered. Tonight it was cheap laptops that parents were gobbling up like ice cream in July. Fabian considered marking up the price even more, but figured the kids had to learn. He was an upstanding American, after all. He wondered if this might lead to bigger things in the future. A seat on the city council?
No. Too much work. Too much kissing dirty rings. No, better to stay in the supply world. It was safer, comfortable, like that perfect pair of shoes Fabian had bought with his own money in the eleventh grade. A Cinderella fit.
He was rattled from his thoughts by the ring of the new doorbell. It patched through to his phone. Probably a late-night customer. He’d tell them to come back in the morning.
He blinked when he saw who it was.
“May I help you?” he asked through the app. Thank God for the app.
And thank God he was standing in his office, out of view. He could pretend he wasn’t there. His car was in the back lot. Maybe they hadn’t seen.
“Mr. Moon, I’d like to have a word, please.”
“I’m sorry, Officer, I just left. I’m talking to you through my mobile phone.”
“Your car is parked in the back, Mr. Moon.” The police officer was looking straight into the camera. Wasn’t his first rodeo.
“Can I ask what this is about?”
The officer looked around, maybe for his partner, or maybe that was his habit. Probably a good habit to have if you were a cop. Check your six—666 times a day.
“I’d like a word about your brother.”
“My brother isn’t here, Officer.”
“Yeah, we know that Mr. Moon. He’s in custody.”
Iggy? In jail? While it didn’t surprise Fabian, it sure as hell upset him. This could ruin everything. His supply would dry up and then what? Had he been stupid to trust his brother? It wouldn’t be the first time.
“What did he do?” Fabian said, avoiding adding, “this time.”
“We believe your brother is the ringleader of a local burglary crew.”
Oh no. That couldn’t be true.
Could it?
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“Look, Mr. Moon, if you could please come out, I’ll take your statement here instead of at the station.”
Fabian looked down at his hands. They were shaking. “Um, sure. I’ll be right out.”
He closed out the ringer app and looked around the office like something might jump out to help him. Nothing jumped.
Fabian had only been questioned after being robbed. Even then he’d felt like a criminal himself, and he’d been the victim. He tried to shake off the nerves, telling himself that he was innocent and so was Iggy.
“Get yourself together,” Fabian told himself.
By the time he got to the front door, he’d gathered a measure of dignity. He was innocent. He had to keep telling himself that. The police officer was waiting next to his patrol car. It took Fabian a moment to realize why: the virus. Social distancing. How many feet was it today? Six? Ten? Twenty?
“Officer,” Fabian said, chin up, making up his mind that twenty-feet was just fine.
“I’ll make this quick.” There was no pad of paper in the cop’s hands. Was he recording this? He didn’t seem to have one of those chest cameras. Maybe it was in the car, mounted to the dash or something. “Your brother, what do you know about his illegal activities?” He said “illegal” like he’d just touched a snake.
Fabian almost told the truth. That he’d had concerns about Iggy and his friends.
He knew it was all too good to be true. Iggy said he had connections for cheap goods. His older brother took him for his word. And why? He was desperate. Plain and simple. Iggy had played him aga
in.
But something deep inside Fabian stirred, something that came from the tough upbringing the two brothers had somehow survived. It had always been the two of them against the world.
“I don’t know anything about what my brother is doing.” Then he straightened a bit more. “It’s been a long day, Officer. Unless you have proof you’d like to show, or a sworn statement by my brother—”
“He says he’s been giving you the stuff he’s stolen and that you’re selling it here.”
That hit Fabian like a can of stew to the head. Regardless, his nerve stuck. It was the same nerve that’d stood up to his stepfather before he kicked the crap out of Fabian for defending his little brother. He’d gotten a broken arm out of that one, but it’d done more to make him a man than Army bootcamp.
“I don’t believe you, Officer.”
The cop’s eyes narrowed. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“I’m saying you’ve been given bum scoop. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get some sleep. Another long day tomorrow.”
Fabian turned and got halfway inside the door when he heard clapping from behind.
He looked back. It was Iggy.
“I told you he wouldn’t fold,” Iggy said to the cop. “My big brother is one of the toughest guys I know. He just doesn’t know it yet.” Iggy pointed to the policeman. “Rick here is a friend. Rick, this is my big brother, Fabian.”
Rick the cop tipped his cap. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Moon.” Now he addressed Iggy. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got the late shift.”
Iggy patted the cop on the back and sent him on his way. When the cruiser was gone, and only the two Moon brothers were left, Iggy grinned at his big brother.
Fabian steadied his breath. “What the hell was that about? You trying to get me in trouble?”
Iggy shook his head. “We’re moving on to the big time, brother. Rick’s only the beginning. Lot of people are gonna be out of work. Lot of people hurting. They’re gonna need jobs, dry goods, all kinds of stuff. Lot of opportunity for guys like us.”
The Next Dawn Page 3
