J. Gonzalez - Back From The Dead

“That’s not true!” Scott began, his voice raised.

“And then there’s the Gaines incident. We couldn’t protect you from the fallout of that, Scott. We tried, but we just couldn’t. The school board and the police had you dead to rights and it took our resources to keep you in school and get the administrators off your back. We couldn’t deal with the fallout of what might have happened if we hadn’t threatened to sue. We wanted to protect you, too. I wanted to get you into counseling but your mother, she had different ideas.”

“I don’t need counseling !” Scott banged his fists on the glass table.

Tom faced his son. Inside he wanted to shout back at him but he reined it in. He couldn’t lose control now. He’d learned to harness his anger a long time ago. “I can’t help but see the pattern. It needs to stop and I’m going to help you.”

Now Scott did meet his gaze. This time, the younger Bradfield didn’t turn away.

“How?” Scott asked. Tom thought he caught a slight tinge of pleading in that question. That was all he needed to know that he’d broken through, had gotten his son to see the severity of the situation.

“The first thing we have to do is get rid of the bodies.”

Now Scott visibly relaxed. He seemed to slump in his chair, as if a great weight had been taken off of him. He was nodding. “Okay, yeah…definitely. Get rid of them.”

“You don’t have to tell me why you did any of this,” Tom said, choosing his words carefully. “That isn’t the issue now. The issue now is to dispose of those bodies and make that guesthouse look immaculate.”

Scott let out a big sigh. He leaned over the table, clasping his hands in front of him. “You think the police will come back today?”

“They might. We need to take care of this as quickly as possible. Before your mother gets home.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost ten.”

Scott nodded. Carol was usually gone until four or five on Saturday afternoons. If the police didn’t return, they could take care of this little problem with no trouble.

“I’ve already called Dave and Steve,” Scott said. “They’re on their way. They should be here any time now.”

“Good.” Scott understood the severity of the situation and had no doubt taken the appropriate measures before Tom confronted him with it.

“Fuckin’ Tim Gaines,” Scott muttered.

“What about him?”

“If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Tom said nothing. He liked to think he would have put two and two together eventually and confronted Scott about the dead men in the guesthouse, but the potential trouble Gaines posed did present a problem. It was obvious he’d talked to the police while in custody, otherwise Tom wouldn’t be having this conversation with Scott now. “We can’t get distracted by other things,” Tom said.

“I’m not distracted. I’m just pissed off.”

Tom thought back to that long ago night when he’d been pissed off and killed that hippie couple. He remembered the rage that had coursed through him, made him do something he never thought he’d do, something he’d been trying to cover up and keep buried ever since. It was because of his attempt at keeping that murder a secret which led to his keeping tabs on Zuck’s Woods, which led him to buy neighboring property when it came up for sale shortly after he graduated from college. He’d had to borrow money out the ass to do it, but Harry Eckman and Victor Beck had gone in on the deal with him and things had been fine. They’d formed a corporation, the three of them, then leased some of the land out, reinvested the profits into other businesses, and within fifteen years time Tom saw himself as CEO of D’Anno and Harris Financial, a private equity firm. It was through his business clout that he managed to get on the board for Lancaster County Development, and thanks to his influence, he’d kept most other developers from trying to turn that land into subdivisions. It was only recently that he’d been able to buy Zuck’s Woods in a very quiet, very private deal with the state gaming commission. He’d done everything he could to keep his sin buried. Likewise, Harry and Victor, his old high school friends, had done their part and kept their crime a secret.

“The detectives didn’t say anything about this,” Tom continued, “…but while I was on the news websites, I noticed that something is going on in another neighborhood that borders Zuck’s Woods. The Elm Grove development.”

Scott got that surprised look again. “What’s going on?”

“Missing people. A bunch of them. They’re talking about conducting a search in Zuck’s Woods.”

“Really?” Tom couldn’t tell if Scott was nervous; he was certainly acting like he was.

“Do I need to be concerned about a search party in Zuck’s Woods?”

“What’s to be concerned about?”

“I’m a shareholder in a corporation that owns Zuck’s Woods.”

“Oh!” Scott seemed to think about this. He looked at Tom. “I don’t know…you might.”

“Okay.” That settled it. He had to call Harry and Victor.

“So what are we going to do?”

“When Steve and Dave get here, take some blankets from the linen closet and wrap the corpses in them. Bring them to the house. We’ll burn them in the basement fireplace.”

“Won’t Mom notice the missing linens?”

“No. I’ll get them replaced. Do you think you guys can handle that?”

Scott nodded. “Yeah. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make some phone calls and get some friends out here. Then we’re going to take care of the guesthouse.”

Tom only hoped they had enough time to cover Scott’s tracks.

And keep his own covered as well.

Tom reached Harry Eckman on his way to the golf course and told him to come to the house. “We playing at your place?” Harry joked.

Tom told Harry what was going on and Harry instantly eased up on the joking. “I’m heading over right now.”

He got a similar reaction from Victor Beck, who was watching the game on his widescreen TV in the living room of the new home he’d bought in River Court. “Should I call our lawyer?” Victor asked.

“Not yet,” Tom said. “Just get over here. And stop by a Home Depot and buy paint. Make it a dozen cans of white paint. I don’t care what brand. Just enough to paint the interior of a living room and the floor.”

“You want to paint your floor?”

“I’ll explain when you get here.”

By the time Victor and Harry arrived at the house a little after ten-thirty, Scott’s friends had already arrived and the boys had removed the corpses from the guesthouse. Tom had given the boys a brief recap. Steve and Dave looked grave and scared. They kept glancing at Scott, who refused to meet their gaze. The three boys hovered in front of the guesthouse for a moment as Tom trekked back to the house. He tried to ignore the sounds the boys made as they entered the guesthouse, the muffled grunts and curses accompanied by what sounded like beatings — Christ, the homeless people in there weren’t dead ? Tom could have sworn they were deader than shit! — along with mangled squeals of surprise and pain that were suddenly cut off. More pounding followed. Scott and the boys pounding their heads in to make sure? Whatever they had to do to cover their tracks. As long as they scooped up the blood and brains that would stain the floor and walls.

David was throwing up outside as Harry Eckman arrived and Tom called out to him to wash the vomit up with the gardening hose. Dave waved a hand weakly, then proceded to do just that as Harry trotted up the deck steps. By the time Victor arrived and the men were sitting at the large glass table, Scott and his friends had gotten a handle on the task at hand and were carrying the wrapped-up remains into the house.