David Levien - Where the dead lay

Now, as long as Terry was footing the bill, Knute was happy for them to come back and make their troubles go away. He half wished they wouldn’t stop with Frank Behr, but that they’d go on and button up Fat Larry, too. Hell, maybe Knute would take care of that himself. Either way he was happy to sit on Behr for the time being, to clock his comings and goings and hand him over when Chicago came to town. Then a car rolled up and a tall blonde with a bouncy ponytail bopped out and caught his attention. He turned down the Scorpions disc that was playing in the car and hit bottom on the Big Gulp as he watched her climb the steps to Behr’s unit. He’d already decided that Behr wasn’t home by taking a good look around and had settled in to wait, but this was an added bonus. It meant Behr might be coming home soon, maybe for a little afternoon delight-that sure wouldn’t be delightful for long.

He watched the tall bitch key her way inside, and all went still again for a few minutes. Then the piss pressure hit him low and hard. He thought about letting it go into the Big Gulp cup but wasn’t in the mood to get sprinkled with the end drops, so he eased himself out of the car. He’d just unbuckled and begun when he was pretty sure he heard a door open and close. He was midstream when he crouched down a bit and thought he caught a look at the bitch’s ponytail dunking over a fence in the back and then disappearing. He tried to force out the rest of it and buckled up as he went for the car door, but he had a feeling he was going to be too late. And he was. When he got around the corner he couldn’t find the blond bitch anywhere.

She heard him before she saw him, his car anyway. The screeching sound of brakes came to her inside the quiet lobby and she looked out to his see his car parked roughly by the curb in a cloud of tire smoke. Thick greasy rubber marks tailed off behind the vehicle. When Frank jumped out, dirty and wild-eyed and crabbed low-as low as he could get, considering his size-his hand against his lower back, gaze cutting about the parking lot in all directions, she felt a warm wave of safety wash over her. She understood many things about her life in that moment. He hit the door, his eyes still intent and vigilant as they swept the bank, and then he saw her. She rushed to him from her position near the guard, where she had been waiting fitfully for five or six minutes. They embraced and he leaned back and touched her face. That’s when she felt her tears start to come.

She had dropped down beneath the window in his place, her back against the wall, and had just decided to hell with it, she was calling the cops and would deal with the embarrassment later, when her cell phone rang. She’d dug it out and gasped, “Hello,” and heard Frank’s voice.

“I’m ten minutes away,” he’d said, after she’d told him where she was. “You need to get out of there. Go out the back and meet me at the National City Bank, there’s a security guard there.” She’d never heard the kind of urgency he had in his voice.

“Should I call the police?” she’d asked. There was a pause while he weighed it.

“Call ’em, but don’t wait for ’em. I’ll explain it later. Can you make it?”

“I think so,” she said, thinking of the child she was carrying and suddenly feeling strong. She used the landline and spoke to a 911 dispatcher and said she was being followed.

“Stay on with me until you go for it,” Frank told her. She poked her head up and glanced out the bottom of the window. She thought she saw some movement at the front of a nearby car but didn’t want to raise herself up for a proper look. She saw a flash of denim, a man’s lower body clad in a pair of jeans. Her heart thundered when she thought he was heading for the building, but he stopped and relaxed into his stance and she saw he was relieving himself behind his car.

“I’m going,” she said, and headed for the rear door.

She’d made it. She ran the whole way, six long blocks, after climbing a low fence at the back of the building. She didn’t look back a single time to see if she’d been spotted or if she was being followed. She didn’t think she could possibly have run any faster no matter what was behind her. It was like a tight race in the pool: looking was only going to slow down your touch.

The worry he saw on her face made him feel sick for a moment, and then a hot bolt of anger shot through him. He knew he wasn’t walking away from anything now.

“Suze,” he said, “are you all right?”

She nodded, mute, tears spilling down her cheeks. Behr pulled her close again and met eyes with the guard across the lobby, a middle-aged black man, who turned away after a few moments.

“Is everything okay… with this?” he asked, touching her belly. She nodded again, placing her hand over his.

“What’s going on, Frank? What’s happening?” she asked.

“The guy-was he around my age, big?” he asked.

“No.”

“Young, early twenties, muscled up-”

“No. He was on the small side. Late thirties. I couldn’t see too well, but I think he had some kind of scar on the side of his face.”

Behr gritted his teeth. He had an idea who she was talking about.

“Why didn’t you want me to wait for the police?” she asked.

“Too long to tell right now.” That’s when Neil Ratay pulled up outside. Behr had called him as soon as Susan had hung up with him. From the looks of things Ratay must have run to his car and lead-footed it over.

“Frank?” Susan asked, as Behr led her out of the bank toward Ratay’s car.

“I need to put you somewhere safe and I can’t watch you right now. I figured you’d be happy to spend time with him.” Behr’s eyes searched the parking lot while they crossed to the reporter, who had gotten out of his car and waited for them.

“Neil,” Behr said.

“Frank,” the reporter answered. His eyes held questions, but he didn’t ask them.

“Thanks for coming,” Behr said.

By now Susan had calmed a bit. “Hi Neil, sorry about this,” she began, but he waved her words away with a cigarette he’d just lit.

“So I’ll work from home today, no big thing,” he said.

Behr gave him a nod. “There shouldn’t be much danger. It’s just a precaution because she walked into it. Even if they know who she is, he didn’t follow her here. Just stay off the street for a while.” Behr’s mouth shut. He looked at Susan. He couldn’t speak what he wanted to, not with the thoughts swirling in his head- thoughts of causes, violence, results, and revenge, of linkage.

“How long?” Ratay wondered.

“Not long,” Behr said. He put his hand on Susan’s back and steered her toward Ratay’s car.

“What about you?” Susan asked, her voice steady now.

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

“Frank-,” she started.

“Neil, would you mind?” Behr said, gesturing at the cigarette and then to Susan as Ratay moved to get in his car.

“Sure,” he answered. Ratay paused for a moment. “Oh…” A half smile of knowing came to his lips as he flicked away the cigarette.

It was finally payday. ’Bout fucking time. After all the work: the lugging the equipment, the installing the lamps, the tending the plants, the making the connections. Yeah, it was about fucking time. Charlie Schlegel stood in an alley off Lambert Street with Kenny waiting for Peanut and Nixie to show. He had the shit in the back of his Durango and they were leaning against it when Peanut’s Neon came around the corner. He pulled up close, and he and Nixie got out of the car.

“’Supps?” were exchanged, and Peanut handed over a thick envelope of money before Charlie passed an old nylon gym bag containing the weed and oxy. It should’ve been that easy.