Chuck Logan - After the Rain

Ace shook his head. “I’m sure you can explain it. And the cut ear. And I’d probably believe you. That ain’t it. Every woman I ever been with in my life except working whores and country-club land sharks-they’re always a little bit vulnerable when they takes their clothes off, at least at first. You’re not exactly comfortable, but you’re miles from vulnerable, girl. You ain’t afraid one bit.”

Nina curled her lip, played it tough, and shot back, “So this is what happens after all the talk? You’re not even gonna fuck me? Just talk some more?” She shifted her stance, not sure what to do with her hands or the rest of her. So she reached for the whiskey on the desk.

And he said, “You probably don’t drink in your real life, do you?”

That brought her around sharp. Too fast, Nina, too fast.

Ace smiled. But his sad smile was gone. This was a cold smile. Cold struggling not to turn into mean. “I wanted to believe we met for a reason. And I guess we did. The reason is you’re working.” Then his expression hardened. “Cover up your ass. And get your things. We’re through here. Take a walk. Back to your husband. If he is your husband.”

Dale had a few errands. First, he stopped at the Alco Discount and bought several sets of heavy bungees. Then he bought some blank videotapes. He spent a few minutes looking at the digital gear. He would definitely have to upgrade, but later. He didn’t have time now to install a new TV, DVD player, and figure them all out.

He drove south, to the ruins of Camp’s Corners and parked in back of the buildings. The old gas station had a garage and he pushed open the rear door of the mechanic’s bay and went in. An eighteen-foot 2001 Dodge Roadtrek camper van was parked in the bay. He’d purchased it a month ago in Grafton.

He walked up to the boxy vehicle and inspected the new paint job. When he bought it, it still had the scorch marks around the windows from the propane fire that had gutted the inside. So he got it cheap. A body shop in Grafton fixed up the outside and finished it off with a new coat of light blue.

Then he gave it to Eddie Solce, who refurbished the inside and put in a cheap chemical toilet. Dale didn’t need a sink or refrigerator; a cooler with ice would do-he wouldn’t have the vehicle that long. He did have Eddie put new carpet down in the rear compartment, and Dale had set up his old wooden twin bed there.

Nowhere near as fancy as when it was new. But functional. Just a curtain behind the buckets seats now. And the bed, freestanding next to a makeshift closet with shelves. A TV and videocassette player that would run off the battery. Various other items were strewn around.

He placed the bungees and the blank tapes on the front seat. Then he opened the briefcase Joe had brought and sorted through the contents. An envelope containing cash. And two Minnesota license plates. He selected the license plates, went out, took a screw driver from a toolbox on a worktable, and removed the blue-and-gold buffalo-motif North Dakota plates. Then he screwed on the pale-white-and-blue Minnesota plates.

He got back in behind the wheel and started it up. Sounded good. And a full tank of gas. Joe had topped it off from two five-gallon cans now sitting empty in the corner of the shed.

He turned off the engine and took a tackle box from the floor under the passenger seat. It contained a number of different containers, several were plastic prescription drugs. One was written in German. Others were glass vials with rubber stopper tops for the insertion of a hypodermic needle. They contained a clear liquid. Dale held one of them up to the light coming in through the dirty windows, read the label, and smiled.

Ketamine.

Joe had acquired a cache of the stuff. Before Joe, Dale had broken into a veterinarian’s office in Cavalier to get the drug.

A dozen fat yellow plastic pens were stacked with the pills. Another of Joe’s innovations. They were Epipens, prescription dispensers for epinephrine, first-aid injectors for people susceptible to anaphylactic shock. Joe had some people in Winnipeg remove the original contents and refill them with 100 mg doses of the ketamine.

Dale hefted one of the pens in his closed hand like a dagger. You just twisted the top. A sturdy needle extended from the bottom and you jammed it in a muscle group. The spring-loaded mechanism in the pen delivered the dose. When used as a general anesthetic during surgery, it was fed directly into a vein through an IV. The intramuscular route was slower and let you feel the effects come on over a period of minutes. Ketamine totally paralyzed people for a short time. And for some people, it simulated the peculiar out-of-body sensation of dying.

He selected one of the Epipens and slipped it in his chest pocket. Then he looked around one last time, walked out, and closed the door. As he got back in his car, he felt a ray of sunlight poke through the clouds and warm his face.

It was a good sign. Joe was getting anxious to get on the road, was questioning some of Dale’s ideas. But Dale had zero doubts. It was gonna work out just fine.

He started up the Grand Prix and drove back to town. When he got into Langdon, he took a fast swing past the high school to get a little edge going. In twenty-four hours he would be on his way to a whole new life.

Outta here.

The Shusters had lived in a comfortable four-bedroom prairie rambler on the east end of town. The house sat on three lots, and Dale had always cut the lawn-his dad expected it since Dale had converted the basement into an apartment for himself.

Dale Shuster. Never been on his own, people said.

Now, with his folks two weeks gone to Florida, and all the rain, the grass was creeping up the post of the FOR SALE sign in the front yard. Dale had not cut the lawn since his folks left, and now it was so high it flipped over on top like a pompadour.

He parked in the garage and went inside. The main floor and upstairs were empty, just furniture runners on the floors that the movers had left. The kitchen table remained, and two chairs. The sink was full of dirty dishes.

His mother had left notes taped to the refrigerator and the cupboards about when to thaw and eat each meal she’d left stacked in plastic containers in the freezer. He opened the fridge, which contained nothing but Coca-Cola, twenty cans of it.

He snapped the flip top on a can of Coke. Took another along for backup, and went down the stairs into the basement.

The basement was stripped.

Dale had not so much packed as given everything away to the Lutheran church his mom had gone to, mostly alone, for the last thirty years. Except for his computer, which he’d smashed into a pulp and dropped in Devil’s Lake. All that remained was a desk, an arm chair, and hassock in front of the TV.

He still had the VCR set up. It was so old nobody would want one like that anymore. Just leave it when he…

No. He did not intend to move . He was going to change . Reappear as a totally new person. But first he had to do this favor for Ace. More of a favor than Ace had ever done for him.

Gordy. Dale smirked. Gordy had mocked and bullied him all his life. Well, Gordy was about to get his heads-up.

His barren desk set against the wall under an old Star Wars poster. Barren except for his high school yearbook. Dale sat down and flipped the pages to the senior pictures until he came to the picture of a younger, smiling Gordy Riker, looking like a toothy, hairy werewolf zit.

With a deliberateness of ceremony, Dale reached up to his chest pocket, moved the stubby Epipen aside, and grabbed the thick-nib Sharpie. His breathing came more rapidly, and a squeezy bubbly sensation started in his chest as he methodically blacked out Gordy’s eyes with the pen.