Heathens & Wolves — Installment 18
Rubberneckers
Eddie, Braces, and Dan the Man sat at the bar in Keri’s Diner. Braces dug into a heaping plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and he drank a bottle of lager and wiped his mouth a lot with a pile of napkins; Dan the Man ate french fries and ketchup, drank a tall glass of ice water, and drew strange trees and distant planets with a box of crayons; Eddie pondered the haggard faces in the diner.
Dan the Man dragged each fry through a pool of ketchup like he was making modern art. Eddie and Braces watched Dan eat, and Eddie thought how he should get a bite himself, a bowl of chili maybe, but not for another hour or two. His stomach was tight, but his head was smooth; his hands were steady. He’d been on a good run since his return flight from back east, keeping his brain greased-up just right. Not too drunk; not too sober.
“A dead guy, in Muffy Roy’s pipes?” Dan the Man said.
“For eight days,” Eddie said.
Braces crinkled his nose.
“Who killed him?” Dan the Man said.
“Natural causes. Heart attack.”
“Little Neil told me one about a gravedigger,” Braces said — “died while he was digging a grave. Fell right over into the finished hole.”
“Talk about cutting out the middle man,” Eddie said.
“People gotta die somewhere,” Dan the Man said.
“Eight days,” Eddie said, shuddering, remembering the smell — like rotten flower stems and old water at the bottom of a vase. He sipped his Budweiser.
Dan the Man held each fry like it was a paintbrush, and his tongue poked out on one side of his mouth — like it always did when he was concentrating. His ketchup-to-fry ratio was such that he had to refill his plate every so often from the Heinz 57 bottle.
“You got enough sauce there?” Eddie said.
Dan the Man hit the bottom of the glass bottle with his palm, again and again. Braces watched the ketchup put up a fight, then finally give in and run out in messy circles onto the white ceramic plate. “You’re a real nutter for chips,” he said.
“What about it?” Dan said, dragging a fry through the new red puddle.
“Half a bottle of ketchup?” Eddie said.
Dan the Man ate a few fries, savoring each one. He washed them down with the ice water and made a point of ignoring Eddie. “You ever have tea with the Queen?” he said to Braces.
“She don’t spend a lot of time in the Black Country, mate.”
“Black Country?” Dan said, giving a brief reprieve to a fry hanging precariously over the pool of ketchup.
“That’s where the blacks live, over there in England,” Eddie said with a wicked smile. “In the Black Country.”
“But Braces is white as snow,” Dan said.
Braces planted his fork in the mashed potatoes, like he was staking a flag in a new country. He looked at Dan the Man. “He’s having one over on you, Sunshine. It’s the Black Country on account of the industrial revolution. Lots of soot and pollution in the old days. Right manky, it was.”
“What’s it like now?” Dan said, drowning the fry.
“Well — you won’t find the Queen in the snug of your local pub.”
“Would you even want her there?” Eddie said.
“Fuck no. When my mum sold her house, her Majesty took thirty percent. Ugly bird.”
“I’d like to do some drinking in an English pub,” Eddie said.
“I like the roofs on them English houses,” Dan the Man said. “All mossy. Like they were built by Guh-nomes.” He paused. “But why even have a Queen at all?”
Braces shrugged. “Tradition, I guess. I wish I could bust in there and steal the Crown Jewels. So much money I could disappear on my own private island. Tropical, mate. No cloudy days.” Braces smiled like he’d just pulled off the impossible heist. In his mind he’d knocked the jewels from the crown one by one, with a hammer and awl, while his mates looked on amazed.
“You’d get sunburned, you Limey,” Eddie said.
Then the muted television set, hanging from the ceiling near the entrance to the kitchen, caught Eddie’s eye. An anchorwoman spoke, but she was stuck in a voiceless world. The wind tossed her hair as she pointed at something.
Cut to a stock shot of a circus elephant, and then to the crime scene where Eddie Sesto had killed the trainer. Braces and Dan the Man noticed Eddie’s sudden interest in the show, so they too looked up at the silent set.
The closed captioning was on. Eddie tried to keep up with the words scrolling along the bottom of the screen, and his lips moved along as he read.
“…Mia, an Asian Elephant, was found near the open train car. Her partner, Kisses, was also inside of the train car. Found dead at the scene was Jack Rusco Jr., a third generation trainer for Bambino and Barney’s Circus…
“…belived to have been stabbed in the back with a bullhook, a tool that trainer’s use on the elephants, and one that animal rights groups have rallied against…
“…the murder weapon has not been found. Due to recent protests of the circus, police have questioned known activists…
“…An unidentified homeless man reportedly witnessed the attack, and the police have released this composite sketch…”
Eddie swallowed. He took a drink of his Budweiser. A pencil drawing appeared on the screen.
“Looks like you, mate,” Braces said and slapped Eddie’s back.
Eddie’s shirt collar instantly tightened. His neck grew hot. He wanted to get up and leave the room. The screen flickered, and a new story came on. Eddie grasped at the broken pieces of himself and tried to put them together again. He wiped his forehead with a napkin.
“You all right?” Braces asked.
“Goddamn,” Eddie said. “Is this guy always late?”
“Pashley’s got a baby,” Dan the Man said, eating his last fry.
Eddie looked at his watch and wound the crown, and he was grateful to have mastered the nervousness that threatened to expose him. “I should’ve stayed in New York,” he said.
Dan the Man dragged a finger around the plate and licked up the rest of the ketchup. Eddie noticed a few people staring. “Knock it off,” he said.
“I like ketchup.”
“Yankee Ketchup?” Braces said. “Try Daddies Sauce — now that’s living. It’s ace on a bacon sandwich.”
“Yo! Dudley Do-Right!” Eddie said, looking over his shoulder. Pashley had come in, and was wiping his feet on the soggy doormat. Eddie lifted his beer bottle as a salutation. Pashley sat down next to Eddie. The waitress came over. You could tell she knew and liked Pashley. “How’s Mae?” she said.
“I think she’s got the — the baby blues, maybe. She’s grumpy. She can’t lose the weight.”
The waitress smiled. “You tell her it just takes a little time is all.”
“And exercise,” Dan the Man said. “Dotty tried to run it off, but she didn’t get nowhere.”
Pashley ordered a cup of coffee and a slice of lemon cake, and the waitress had a look like she’d marry Pashley tomorrow morning if he’d only say the word.
“Those fries were something else,” Dan the Man said to the waitress.
“You want to know the secret, honey?” she said, talking to Dan but looking mostly at Pashley. “We salt them at the end, when they’re hot. We toss them in a stainless steel bowl so the salt gets all over them.”
She walked away. Braces patted Dan the Man on the back. “New dolly bird for you, Sunshine.”
“Already got a bird. And don’t call me Sunshine.”
“Same bloody bird every night?”
“I like my bird,” Dan the Man said.
A young couple approached and gently interrupted to say hello to Sergeant Pashley. They had a kid, a troop member they said, and they’d all been at the Presbyterian Church on the night Pashley gave his talk, and wasn’t it something else? They were lucky to have him on the force. Pashley said it was nothing, but it made him glow a bit.
“And you,” the woman said to Eddie. “I saw you too, in the back of the room. Are you a scout leader?”
“Top Brass,” Eddie said. He bumped Dan the Man’s arm. “This one here’s a Tenderfoot, but I think he’ll make Eagle Scout one day.”
“They’re from back east,” Pashley said, as if it were some sort of explanation.
“Well,” the man said, tugging on his wife’s arm, “we should probably let them get back to business.”
“Ma’am,” Eddie said, and tipped his cap.
“Stay dry,” Pashley said to them as they exited. The bells chimed.
“We should meet somewhere more private,” Pashley whispered, leaning in.
“Why?” Eddie said.
“I’m associating with known criminals, that’s why.”
“Rubbish,” Braces said. “We’re unknown. It’s the bad ones get known.”
“You ever had the fries here?” Dan the Man said.
“They’re good,” Pashley said.
“They salt ’em at the end,” Dan said, like he was reciting a cherished passage from the Bible.
“Do you salt Dotty at the end, mate?” Braces said.
“I got a baby, don’t I,” Dan replied.
“Quit worrying so much,” Eddie said to Pashley. “People only meet in secret when they got something to hide. You got something to hide, Pashley?”
“They toss ’em in a stainless steel bowl,” Dan the Man said.
“Jesus, Mary, Mother of God,” Eddie said. “We got it, we got it! Salt. At the end.” He looked at Pashley. “So, what’ve you got for us, copper?”
Braces punched Eddie’s arm. “That’s bloody good, Yank.”
“Something juicy,” Pashley said.
Eddie took a swig of beer. “Well, let’s have it.”
Pashley lowered his voice. “A few years back, on one of the lovers’ lane murders, we found some interesting hairs. Couldn’t do much with them. Not back then. But I told Miller to dig them up again and send them back to the lab.”
“And?” Eddie said.
“They’re monkey hairs.”
“Monkey hairs?”
“You saying what I think you’re saying?” Dan the Man said, eyes wide.
“What do you think he’s saying?” Eddie said.
“Bigfoot.”
“Good Lord,” Eddie said.
Pashley straightened the silverware on his napkin. “He works with monkeys — or he owns a monkey.”
“Right creepy,” Braces said.
“Sure is,” Pashley said. “Miller — he’s the lead on the case now — he goes out to Hillsboro. They got a place out there, the Oregon Regional Primate Research Center. He gets to talking to a woman who works there, a scientist, and she gives him a list of all the employees for the years in question. One hundred and fifty two of them.”
“How many monkeys?” Dan the Man said.
“Four thousand some,” Pashley said.
“What do they do with ’em?”
“They give them cancer, or diabetes, or spinal injuries… then they try to fix them.”
“How’s come?”
Eddie cut in. “So that twenty years from now, when you’ve got diabetes, they’ll have a cure all ready for your big ass.”
“Don’t seem fair. Not for the monkeys,” Dan the Man said.
“I went out there once,” Pashley said, “on a theft of a dozen Apple 2 E’s. The sound of those monkeys — ” Pashley shook his head. “I tried to tell my wife about it, but I guess you sort of have to see it — and hear it — for yourself.”
“You think our Groundskeeper worked there?” Braces said.
Pashley paused. “This scientist Miller interviewed, she went on and on about this one particular guy, got fired years ago. He was… memorable.”
Pashley took a bite of cake and a sip of coffee. He looked around again, afraid to be overheard. Then he lowered his voice. “This scientist, she comes in after hours one night. Only the janitorial staff is there. Well, she moseys into one of the labs, and when she walks in, there’s the guy — and he’s not even supposed to be there. He’s off the clock. And he’s got a monkey on one of the tables, all tied down — and the guy, he’s giving the monkey electric shocks with a prod and a battery. The scientist, she turns around and runs to her office and calls security — after locking the office door behind her — because the guy, see, he’s banging on the door, begging her to forget the whole thing.”
“How much time did he do?” Eddie said.
“For what?” Pashley said.
“Animal cruelty.”
“Ha,” Pashley said. “You think anyone gives a shit about those monkeys? The lab didn’t want a big scene about it. They aren’t too keen on publicity, so they didn’t even press charges. They breed those monkeys for a lifetime of poking and prodding.”
“But only during business hours,” Braces said.
“Does this creep have a name?” Eddie said.
“Gordon. Lee. Akey.”
Eddie rubbed his chin. “Never trust a guy with three names.”
“I knowed a guy named Hugh Warren Scott,” Dan the Man said.
“Nice lad?” said Braces.
“He stole forty bucks from his mom, to buy some crack cocaine.”
“Exactly,” Eddie said.
“You ever caught a murderer before?” Dan the Man asked Pashley. “Some guy killed his wife or something?”
“Nah,” Pashley said. “Not personally. I’ve booked ’em though. And I’ve seen some weird shit that sticks with you. One time, I got a call to the scene of an accident, back when I was a Boot.”
“A car accident?” Eddie said.
Pashley nodded. “Bad one, too.”
“Anyone die?” Dan the Man said.
“They both lived. But the guy was banged up pretty good. He was the one driving. His wife was the passenger. She was probably no more than twenty-five or so. And gorgeous. A real knockout.”
“Was she banged up too?” Dan the Man said.
Pashley shook his head. “Nah, she did all right overall. Scraped up knees. Broken, bloody nose. That was about it. I was the first one on the scene, but a few other guys showed up quick — which was good news, ’cause it was the first bad accident I’d been called to. Anyways, the car doors were messed up bad. Couldn’t open them. The firemen ended up nearly halving the car in two. So the girl was right there on display for the rubberneckers.”
“What’s that?” Dan the Man asked, setting his crayon down.
Eddie sighed. “It’s the idiots who slow way down when they pass the scene of a car wreck, hoping to see something gruesome.”
Pashley went on. “So she’s wearing this blue sundress. Real pretty. The EMTs had to cut it right off with a pair of shears to see if she was injured, and when they get it off, there she sits in the tiniest bra and panties I ever saw.
“A few of the younger guys bumped elbows and made faces, and that was awkward — I mean, there’s a time and a place, you know? One guy gave me a look and a nod, as if to say, you agree, right? That’s some piece of ass.
“She was all fazed out, too. Not even all there. She kept asking if her husband was all right — if the car was all right. We told her he was and it wasn’t. Then Rick Lipnicky tells me ‘go off and get a sheet or something’ and I didn’t know what he meant, but someone else got a sheet and two of us guys stood there holding it, like some sort of changing room, to shield her from the prying eyes.”
“The cops’ eyes?” Eddie said.
“Nah. Well, some of them. But mainly the rubberneckers. Some of them were staring at her; staring at those tiny panties and that shiny bra. We had to give her a modicum of privacy, right? — and that seemed weird to me, you know: that someone would even be thinking of that sort of thing at the scene of an accident.”
“Despicable,” Eddie said.
“You’d sneak a peek,” Dan the Man said.
“No — I wouldn’t.” Eddie flicked one of Dan’s crayons off the table, and it landed far away. “That’s an injured lady you’re talking about. There are lines.”
Pashley jumped in to break up the sudden tension. “Yep, there are lines all right. The whole thing creeped me out, to be honest.”
“Some guys can’t give it a rest,” Eddie said.
“I needed that blue,” Dan the Man said, looking wistfully at the faraway crayon — “to finish up Saturn.”
“Saturn ain’t blue,” Eddie said.
“You need to move fast,” Pashley said. “Miller’s going after a warrant. They’ll be knocking on Akey’s door by Christmas Eve.”
“You’re all right,” Eddie said, slapping Pashley’s shoulder blade and kneading it — sensing Pashley’s apprehension about his own involvement.
“Make sure it’s him,” he said, “really him, before… you know.”
“You say it’s him; it’s him,” Dan the Man said, trying to forget about the crayon.
Pashley blinked. “I don’t know for sure.”
“Cops got an instinct, right?” Eddie said, letting go of Pashley’s shoulder. “What’s your instinct telling you?”
Pashley looked at his spoon. He turned it upside down and studied how it caught the light from the white-bladed ceiling fan. Then he pictured baby Sarah, turning this way and that in her crib, and dreaming innocent dreams. “I think it’s him,” he said.
They sat for a moment, listening to the clinking of silverware from the kitchen. Braces smoked and thought about bike engines and muddy race tracks. Dan the Man rolled his fingertips along the countertop. Eddie stared at the white ceramic Christmas tree near the cash register. The twinkling lights were in harmony with the pulsing boozy orbs in his brain, so that they seemed to be breathing along with him.
He thought about Peg, how she’d pushed him to leave her after Junebug died. She yelled at him, called him names, egged him on — hoping that he would cut the cord so that she wouldn’t have to do it; and, finally, she got her wish. The cord was cut. Now she was down in Tennessee, where the air is slow and the lakes are still and full of carp.
Outside, under the starry cold sky, Pashley shook each of their hands thinking it would be the last time he’d ever see them. His debt to Katzenberg was paid in full now. He could keep the money. Still, he wasn’t quite ready to wash his hands of the whole thing. There was nothing quite as thrilling on the right side of the law.
He sat in his car and he thought of that comfortable little box he called a home. The ten hour shifts, the paychecks every other Friday — taxes due by April 15th, and let’s not wait till the last minute this year!
Maybe Eddie Sesto was onto something: scheming and dreaming up cash money from thin air, or taking it outright. Nothing but lies reported to Uncle Sam. Doling out real justice; Godlike justice. Wrath and fury. That kind of life made you walk and talk like a real man, didn’t it? — even if it was a shorter life. Less secure, but much more dazzling. Girls on the side; doting wives at home.
An eye for an eye.
No paperwork.
No appeals.
No bullshit.
