Peckerwood (17 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MONDALE

When Chowder finally showed up at their fishing spot, he’d had the chance to read the High Society story three more times. Forget that he’d just assaulted a citizen in front of a large crowd, he wanted to do it again. He wished he’d killed the little shit. He looked at the busty lady cop in the pictures, her fake tits standing off her torso like they were allergic to gravity, her shaved snatch glistening with oil, her teased hair and heavy make up making her look twice her age and cold.

She was supposed to be Eileen? It was obscene.

Chowder’s pickup pulled up beside his cruiser and the outlaw jumped out like he had an electric prod up his butt. He looked at Jimmy like he wanted to hit him. “What did I fucking tell you?”

Jimmy jumped out of his cruiser. Never mind the hundred pounds Chowder had on him, if he wanted a fight, he could have one. He threw the rolled up magazine right at his partner. “I don’t give a damn what you told me to do.”

Chowder caught the magazine and threw it into the bushes. “They took him to the hospital Jimbo. The fucking hospital. And the whole town saw you do it. Are you trying to go to prison?”

“Aww.” Jimmy waved off Chowder’s concerns. Chowder stepped toward him and Jimmy closed the gap. When Chowder shoved him, Jimmy cracked his chin with a sharp uppercut. He’d stunned the big man as well as himself, but Chowder recovered quickly and instinctually punched Mondale square in the mouth. The big man was angry, but in control enough not to put too much behind it. Jimmy staggered back two steps then charged him.

Chowder simply absorbed him, swallowing his entire attack. Mondale didn’t stop struggling until Chowder pulverized his kidney with a single blow. Jimmy’s knees buckled, but Chowder held him up and gently lowered him to the ground, then sat down beside him.

Jimmy clutched his side and sat beside the larger man and sucked for air with as much dignity as he could muster. Chowder spoke to him in a patronizing tone. Again, like he was a little kid getting lectured by his father. “You’ve got to let it go for now. Too many eyes on you and me.”

Chowder helped him to his feet and into his prowler and Jimmy saw something else in the big man’s expression.

“Listen.”

“I don’t think so,” Jimmy said, thanking god he’d left his keys in the ignition. He didn’t think he could’ve reached into his pockets for them now.

“We got more talking to do.”

“No, we don’t.” Jimmy started the car and pulled away.

He wandered the hills, avoiding town till the sun went down. When the light was gone, he pulled onto his street and killed the headlights. He slunk into his house and pulled all the curtains. The answering machine was full of dial-tone messages and there was blood in the bowl when he pissed. He grabbed a beer and an icepack and was headed for bed when there was a knock on his door.

When he threw it open, Julie Sykes jumped back. “I called. Somehow I thought you might ditch me.” Mondale just stared. He couldn’t think of anything to say. “Can I come in, Jimmy?”

TERRY

Everything hurt. He was helpless like a fuckin mental cripple. Both middle fingers, broken near off, were taped to the ring fingers. Everything was hard to do, eating, dressing, bathing, driving. Forget about work, he couldn’t handle a riding lawn mower, let alone a CAT, which left him many idle hours. And that was even worse. He couldn’t shuffle cards or tug his meat, and daytime TV was for housewives.

He called Beth, which was an accomplishment in itself, and asked if she wouldn’t mind letting the kid stay with him more while he was incapacitated. She agreed right away, which made him feel worse. That meant she was probably still getting some from that new guy. There was no satisfaction in getting what he wanted if it didn’t involve depriving someone else of theirs. But Wendell would be helpful to have around. He’d do just about anything Terry asked, then retreat to a corner to remain unnoticed until needed again. If only his mom had been that way.

Thursday night, Cal picked him up at six and Terry told Wendell not to expect him back all weekend. His son took the news stoically and Terry wondered if the kid’s delicate feelings were hurt or if he was stoked to have the place to himself. Sadly, it was probably the former. He was a strange kid. When Terry was that age, he’d have given his left nut for run of the house for a weekend. Oh well.

Cal was happy. Thursday was usually the best part of the weekend, and he regularly called out sick or just didn’t go in to work on Fridays. “Our ship’s come in, kemosabe.”

“Say how?” said Terry.

“I sent the preacher more instructions.”

“When the fuck did you plan on telling me?”

“Hmm. Right the fuck now, I guess. Chill. I only just did it last night.”

“How?”

“I called him on the phone just like before.”

“Hey genius, you know they can trace that shit.”

“Only if they went to the police. You really think they’re gonna do that?”

Terry thought no such thing. “Well, what’d you say?”

Cal smiled. “I was so fuckin smooth, man.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. Told him to leave the cash in a bag inside a parked car at the Walmart in Sykeston.“

“And where’d you put the picture?”

Cal started rocking back and forth with mirth, “In the baby station of the men’s room at the roll-toss place.” Terry too laughed at the idea of Eli going into the down-home-cookin, family-vibe restaurant to retrieve homo jackoff photos.

“So, you picked up the cash already?”

“Course.”

“Well, where is it, dude?”

“At the house. It’s in Aunt Jeanette’s diaper bag.”

“The fuck outta here.”

“Pretty secure if you ask me.”

“Alright then, shit, let’s get wasted.”

They headed for The Gulch and hit happy hour in the face. Each of them ordered a pitcher of Bud and three shots of Tequila. Terry shared his painkillers and the weekend had begun.

Two hours later the cocktail of motor skill assassins had rendered Terry clumsy and he spilled the last of his second pitcher and cussed. “At this rate, I’ll be dry by Sunday.”

“Won’t let it happen, kemosabe,” Cal laughed. He grabbed his own pitcher and took it over to the next table. Heck and Toby, two roughnecks already sitting there, weren’t happy to see him.

“Fuck off.” The older one said as soon as Cal had settled and begun to pour himself another drink. Cal ignored him and drained half the glass in a single gulp. “Hey. Did you hear me? Fuck off, like now.”

“Get bent, Heck.”

“What did you say?”

“Go out back and play with each other quietly, so the rest of us can finish a drink,” said Cal. Toby, the younger one, stood up and Cal kicked his knee from under the table with a steel toe. The young man fell and smacked his face on the edge of the table, sending all the drinks and glass that rested atop crashing to the floor. “Son of a bitch!” cried Cal, seeing his unfinished pitcher go to waste. He reached across the table and smashed his mug on the side of Heck’s head.

Quickly as he could, Terry made his way over and began kicking Toby in the ribs. If Toby managed to get to his feet, Terry would be useless with his mangled hands, but it didn’t happen. Terry connected the heel of his cowboy boot to Toby’s temple and the youngster stopped moving.

Just then, a horse kicked Terry in the kidneys and he collapsed with a whimper. The bartender stood over him with a well-used baseball bat.

“Get the fuck out, now!”

Cal and Heck stopped their rasslin and together dragged Toby’s unconscious body out the back door while Terry followed, unable to contribute because of his hands.

When they’d propped Toby up against some garbage bags, Terry made his contribution by taking out the last of his painkillers which all three of them split. Heck dry swallowed his then looked down at the man on the ground.

“Shit. There goes my ride.”

“You can ride with us,” said Cal.

“You are a white man,” said Heck. “And I know a place.”

“Oh yeah? Like a reasonable place? How much?”

Heck reached into his back pocket and took out his Saturday Night Special. “We can make a stop first.”

Cal met Terry’s questioning stare. They had money waiting back at Cal’s place and didn’t need to pull some chicken-shit stick-up for cash. But this wasn’t really about cash, was it?

“Okey-doke.”

MONDALE

Four A.M. and he’d slept perhaps three hours in short, fitful bouts, roused continuously by rage and guilt and lust. He slipped out of bed and dressed in the bathroom, pausing only to scrub his face with cold water. He was careful not to make noise and avoided even turning on the light, but when he opened the door Julie Sykes was sitting up in bed waiting for him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, to which a thousand answers immediately sprang to mind.

But he said, “Nothing. Go back to bed.”

“Where are you going?”

He stooped to pick up his shoes and then headed out the door. “Work.”

When he got into the car, he realized he’d been holding his breath. As he wheeled out of the drive and down the street he recapped the previous twenty-four hours. He’d read a pornographic story about his own dead daughter, assaulted the author in front of a crowd of onlookers, been in a fight with Chowder Thompson and fucked his dead daughter’s high school friend. Jimmy Mondale, this is your life.

Julie Sykes was up for it. When he’d opened the door for her, she’d come in and tried to engage him in conversation about the day’s events, but his non-inclination toward talk was obvious and when he’d reached for her like some automaton set on “fuck” she’d gone along without missing a beat.

And it was kinda weird.

There’d been no talk. Their coupling felt choreographed and unremarkable. Not bad exactly, but he’d participated in more exciting handshakes.

Afterward he’d collapsed on his back and gone straight to sleep.

When he walked into the station, Deputy Townsend looked up from his magazine and then at his watch. “Hey, Jimmy.” The young policeman glanced around, clearly uncomfortable in his presence. “What’s going on?”

Jimmy ignored Townsend and closed his office door behind him. Ten minutes later he was asleep at his desk. Bob Musil woke him up around six. He stood over Jimmy with a cup of coffee and handed it over as soon as the sheriff could hold it. As Mondale took his first sips, Musil told him how it was.

“Take some time off, Jimmy. Not a suggestion this time.”

Jimmy didn’t have the energy to argue. When he got back home, Julie was gone and there a message on his machine from his ex-wife. Shirley’s voice started talking directly to him, for once, mistaken, that he’d been standing there listening. “Jim, Elizabeth’s gone into labor. We’ll be at the Holiday Inn if you need to reach us. I’ll call again soon with more news. And Jim? Pick up the phone next time.”

He went to his bedroom and grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He was fifty miles outside of Kansas City before he realized he had no idea what hospital to head to.

CHOWDER

Forty-eight hours were up with no word from, and no sign of, Tate Dill. He’d had Hettie begin packing for a clandestine exit. The cloak and dagger element excited her. They’d had a bout of aggressive two-minute sex after he’d told her to keep it quiet, then he’d gone into the Bait ’N More where he was working the four-to-midnight shift. He was reading travel magazines about destinations south when the movie star lawyer came through the front door. Chowder looked up and the lawyer waved at him as he headed for the salty snacks. Chowder’s stomach acted like he’d eaten a fistful of nails while he watched the lawyer shop. A few minutes later he strolled up to the counter with bags of chips, cans of nuts, a large coffee and two-liter Vess cola. Then he stood in front of Chowder and leafed through the magazines. “You have
High Society
?”

“Sold out.”

“Damn. Everybody is. Guess I’ll have to find it elsewhere.” He winked at Chowder and indicated that he was finished shopping and was ready to check out.

Chowder rang everything up slowly, mentally tracking the caloric value of the lawyer’s purchase.

Dennis Jordan read his mind and laughed. “I know, disgusting isn’t it? I don’t usually eat like this, but y’know, stake-out food.”

Chowder nodded. “You’re gonna have to leave the parking lot. Got a no-loitering policy.”

“Spotted me, huh? There’s a ding in the back of the car I oughtta fix. Be more discreet.”

“What are you hoping to see happen?”

Jordan shrugged. “My primary target left town this morning, so I’m just observing another one now. Probably nothing’ll happen tonight, but you never can be certain.”