Eden (9 page)

E
adie began her day in the stables. She began at one end of the building, scraping the wet hay and manure into a wheelbarrow, transporting the muck to a bin at the end of the concrete lot, returning, doing it again. Her shovel moved swiftly and the lifting, twisting, hurling, the pressure on her knees—it all felt good. Eadie liked to work out. Liked to feel her heart beating in her neck. To be breathless.

She cleared one stall down to the bare concrete, her lungs full of the earthy, grassy smell of the beast, now and then the acidic ammonia of the animal’s urine at the back of her throat. She swept the stall out until it was only thin mud at the bottom and then put the pressure hose onto it. Her boots were too big and rubbing holes through her socks into her feet, but she didn’t mind. She liked being dirty and sore. Knew she would earn sleep.

She led the animal back into the stall and stood while it snuffled in her palm with its warm velvet nose, black eyes wary, blinking wire eyelashes. Animals didn’t mind her. She’d always wondered at that, given what she was deep down inside.

She moved to the next stall and led the horse out into the sun, ducked when it tried to nuzzle the side of her head, roughly, a kind of loving head butt. Sweat tickled her temples. She wiped hay dust onto her cheeks and forehead. Being dirty reminded her of home.

She had always been a homebody at the dump. Eric was the adventurer, wandering off into the labyrinth of trash and coming back at night with things he wanted to show her, pieces of broken jewelry and toy guns and little wooden boxes with rusted hinges. She liked to be around Hades when she was little, bringing him coffee in bed and letting the smell of it bring him out of his restless, snoring slumber, sitting with her legs under the blanket while he drank it in silence, watching his face come back to its regular shape.

It was probably a year before she stopped being afraid of him. Even learning what he did for a living endeared him to her. The first time she snuck down to the back lots and watched him heaving the body of some fallen drug lord into the compacted trash, she was awed at his care and delicacy. The way his tired arms lay the shoulders of the man down gently, how he crossed the hands over the chest. It was people that Hades disposed of, not things. Once it had been her destiny to be laid down by him like that, her face passive and sleepful as the nylon sheet came over her, the rubber after that. Her deep, acid-filled grave.

The adult Eadie was spraying out the fifth horse stall when Pea returned. She was covered in filth, too. The squat figure leaned on the rails and watched her work for a while. It was uncomfortable. Where Pea stood there was no way Eadie couldn’t hit her with the back spray. She didn’t know whether to go on or stop. The gaze was lowered, critical, the lips snarled. Eadie stopped the compressor with her foot.

“Lunch,” the woman said. Eadie followed her out to the sink to wash her hands. That earned a frown. She wiped her hands dry on her filthy jeans, supposed that might make up for the insult of hygiene.

She walked through the stable doors to the back area. Other animal workers here, all of them men, were sitting on milk crates or the bare earth, smoking, drinking coffee laced with bourbon. A milk crate piled up with sandwiches, ham and cheese, tomato and cheese, pickles and cheese, Vegemite and cheese.

Eadie glanced around for Nick. He wasn’t there. Neither was Skylar. She took a milk crate close to Pea, but not too close, and nabbed the first sandwich she could reach. She flipped her sunglasses down, knowing it was better to have two cameras recording the stubbled faces and scarred hands, profiles that would be checked for violence, kidnapping, drug charges. Eadie looked around but took nothing in. It was Jackie she wanted to spend time with. Skylar would be her ticket into his company.

“You know, I ain’t never seen a stable mucked out so slow,” Pea said. “You never done this shit before?”

A couple of the workers sniggered. Conversations drained away. Eadie coughed. The sun was belting through the cheap sunglasses.

“Didn’t realize we were on a clock.”

“We’re always on a clock. Life’s a fucking clock.”

“I’ll speed up then.”

Pea looked around. The men laughed.

“The hell you doing down here?”

Eadie leaned back, chewed her sandwich before she spoke.

“What, on the farm?”

“No. The stables.”

“Working,” Eadie said.

“You working or you wasting my time until you decide which dick you gonna sit on up there at the breakfast sheds?”

More laughter. One of the older men swigged a beer, yellow light dancing off it from above.

“Come on. Lay off, Pea,” someone said.

“I’m not planning on sitting on any dicks, all due respect,” Eadie said.

“What’s the matter? You a fucking dyke or something?” Indignant.

“Actually, yeah.”

There was a group inhalation, a few groans of excitement. Eadie felt the air change. She’d let the words tumble off her lips thoughtlessly, but as they hit the ears around her she understood it to be the right move. Lying was easy. It had been a little while since she’d played any really entertaining lying games. They’d been Eric’s specialty. The first lie was always the best, made her cheeks feel hot, her hair stand on end.

“I heard you were married,” Pea snorted.

“I was.”

“And now you’ve decided muff-diving is your game.”

“It’s not really a decision,” Eadie said. “Or a game.”

“Imagine that,” Pea mused. “Imagine you come home from work one day and your wife is horizontal with another chick.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Eadie said.

“What the hell’s wrong with you? You hate men or something? Plenty of men here. You hate them, do you?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Plenty of girls here,” one of the younger men said. “If, you know, you want to do a reenactment of that night.”

Laughter, Pea’s the hardest.

“All right, leave her alone now, Pea,” an older man said, getting up from his milk crate. He pointed to the two women in turn, the beer in his hand, swinging. “You, put ya back into it. And you, find some other feathers to ruffle.”

The men left, laughing, chattering about the new gossip. By nightfall it would be all over the farm. Pea looked at Eadie appreciatively, as though she’d won something. Eadie wasn’t sure exactly what. She was looking forward to lying again. To seeing what else would come out of her under a little squeeze. She reached forward and took a water bottle from the cooler at the center of the gathering and stood with it.

“They’re not gonna like that around here,” Pea said. Her tone had changed.

“I ain’t got time for what they like,” Eadie said as she went back into the stables. “Clock’s ticking.”

I
came up on the van fast, the Jack Daniel’s pre-mixer bottles in my fingers, and thumped on the door with my foot. I heard a yelp from within. The ginger spider. Juno rolled open the door and glared out at me from beneath a watch cap pulled too low over flaming blond eyebrows.

“Get your hand off it.”

“Asshole,” he said, watching me get in.

“Here, take this and shut up.”

I handed him the second Jack Daniel’s and crawled into the space beside him. The whole van smelled like teenage body odor, mildly sexual, full of unfulfilled dreams. There were fast-food wrappers everywhere, orange plastic cheese and a stack of crime novels knocked over by his feet, some fantasy titles with dragons on the cover, a couple of Anne Rices.

“You know, you’re supposed to be watching.”

“I watch.”

“What are you getting?”

Juno took a notepad from the ledge before him, handed it to me. I don’t know why. It was unreadable. There were some good sketches of birds, and some naked ladies with black wings.

“There are a few nasties getting around,” he said. “Nicholas Hart, couple of previous charges for assault, assault with a deadly, arson, and a sexual assault that didn’t stick.”

Juno fiddled with a laptop wedged between the monitors. Cleared dirt out of the corner of his eyes, yawned, drew up a still from one of Eden’s cameras of a lanky blond man in a cap.

“Gave Eden a good rub at breakfast this morning. He’s on parole so we could snatch him up any time, but I’d like to see a bit more of him first.”

“Okay. Who else?”

“There’s Penelope Goodman.” He double-clicked on another still. A plump woman in coveralls.

“What’s her deal?”

“Just a couple of domestic violences way back, but she’s such a bitch I thought she warranted mention.”

“That it so far?”

Juno picked his long teeth with a fingernail. The exhaustion was radiating off him now as his eyes wandered over the monitors.

“No Jackie?”

“No. No Jackie yet.”

“When?”

“Eden’s pretty chummy with his current screw. Might be her ticket in. Gave the girl the deodorant can camera, which was clever, except the girl put it on the bathroom sink backward so we’ve only got audio from that one.” He pointed to a blank monitor, the shadow of a can against a tiled wall.

“Anything interesting?”

“Some mildly interesting telephone conversations by Rye. Mainly drug deals though. Nothing about the missing girls. I emailed the files away for a transcript.”

“Well, we’re in. I guess we just wait.”

“So is Eden gay?”

I didn’t even register the question at first. I’d found a sleeping Eden on one of the monitors, her body turned toward the camera, a slender arm hanging over the edge of the bed. I understood what drove Juno to watch, hour after hour. She looked like a Botticelli. Sleep took all the hard edges off her.

“Is she what?”

“Gay.”

“What?” I turned back.

“She told a bunch of workers today she’s not sleeping with anyone at the farm because she’s gay. Is she?”

I laughed. “She’s not sleeping with anyone because she’s a cop.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Does it matter if she’s gay or not?” I couldn’t keep the humor out of my voice.

“No.”

I started laughing and couldn’t stop. He looked like he wanted to punch me, but I outranked him by about two decades of grueling cop work. So the best he could do was pout and scratch the back of his bony white neck.

“Shit, give me a break. You live someone’s life for two days fucking straight and you get to wonder about them, that’s all. I’m just curious. ’

“I get it.” I wiped my eyes, gave his shoulder a slap. “She’s a beautiful woman. Just don’t fall in love with her. Don’t even think about it. She’s not your type. At all. Okay? Not even close.”

The young man didn’t seem to know what to think of my assessment. We both watched Eden on the screen for a while. Yes, the outside of Eden was very attractive. Like a beautiful poisonous flower. But the truth was that she was no one’s type. I hadn’t considered what her preference was from the moment I learned what she and Eric had done. What I was sure she still did. I had the feeling sexual partners would be fleeting things for Eden if there were any on her radar at all. It was dangerous to be close to her. I was way too close as it was.

The gay card was a good move. I couldn’t see the ferals on the farm being very supportive of such a contemporary admission. It would grate on female sensibilities out there in the grassy badlands. The men might not be so hard on her because she was a beautiful lesbian and would fall into fantasy category and not be an offense against their masculinity. In any case, the admission would stir up trouble, bring out a few true colors, drop a few masks. I wondered if she’d planned on it. It would certainly make for interesting viewing.

I sucked the Jack Daniel’s dry and was about to go out for another when Juno’s voice stopped me.

“What was that?”

I looked back at the screen.

“What?”

Juno was leaning forward, nose up, like he was trying to smell the monitor at the same time as he watched it. He let his head drop, grabbed the mouse, did some things. Zoomed in. Zoomed back out again. Sat back in his chair, unsatisfied.

“What was it?”

“Thought I saw something move in her caravan.” He tapped the screen with a speckled finger. “Here.”

I looked. Saw nothing. The image wasn’t great but there was nothing moving on it. I widened my eyes, slitted them, blinked. Nothing.

“A shadow,” I said.

“Maybe.”

“Probably a gay pride march.”

“There.” He stabbed the screen. “Look.”

I looked. The door of Eden’s caravan was ajar. The camera gave us a view of Eden tilted down from her head, the camera probably on the bedside table, arm, elbow, the end of the bed lost in darkness. Beyond, lit from what was probably the kitchenette window, the caravan door. It was swinging open slowly. I felt my stomach clench.

“Shit.”

“We got backup on standby?”

“Yeah,” I glanced at him. “Response time’s about five minutes. But just wait a second. Let me see who it is.”

A figure slid into the van. Stooped below the sagging roof. The figure seemed to sway. Put a long hand out, steadied himself against the slatted bathroom door.

A pylon of a man, all lean, square construction, symmetry, the solidity of something built slowly from the ground up. Deceptively strong. I knew his type. The skinny junkie thief you try to pin whose core body strength flips you over despite your bulk.

“Christ almighty, it’s Nick Hart. We need to call this in.” Juno grabbed my arm. I could feel his nails through my shirt.

“Hang on.”

“He’s going to hurt her.” He was almost shouting.

“Just wait.” I pulled his fingers off me. “I know what I’m doing.”

Nick was at the end of the bed, looking down at her. Eden hadn’t moved. Her breathing was low and deep. Mouth open. Women hate it when you see them sleeping with their mouths open. Like there’s something about that image that could ruin all the hard work they put into the rest of their appearance.

Juno was panting. He grabbed his phone from the counter.

“We need to—”

“You blow this operation without my approval and I’ll kill you.”

“Your partner is in danger,” he wailed.

“I know.”

“He’s—”

“I know!”

Nick Hart, the shadow in the dark, was touching himself. Trailing his fingers down the bulge in the front of his jeans. He stood there for what seemed like an eternity. My heart was thumping. I silently pleaded for Eden to wake. She didn’t. I reached for my phone. Held it. Didn’t dial.

Nick kneeled on the bed, eased his weight down. Put a hand down by her waist. Even if she woke now all he had to do was fall on her. A hand reached for her face, hovered over it, didn’t touch. I took the lock off my phone. Poised my finger to dial.

Eden rolled. Something in her hand. Something big. It swung up, over, just as Nick dropped on top of her, met the side of his head on the way down like a police baton meeting a kneecap. A half-thump, half-crack, followed by a grunt. He fell sideways instead of down. She was on top of him, the long handle of the frying pan she’d used across the front of his throat. She put a knee in the pan itself and both hands on the end of the handle and leaned down. Her mere weight. Crushing. Juno and I had our mouths open now.

They stayed like that, the two figures, for maybe a minute. I could tell she was really strangling him. When you strangle someone, shut off the airway all the way, they don’t make a sound, not those loud grasping choking noises you see in movies. It’s a silent death. Every few seconds the click of grinding teeth. But that’s it. Strangely peaceful for the person doing it. Juno stirred first, grabbed at his phone again.

“She’s going to—”

Eden’s voice came over the monitor. Her nose was touching Nick’s. Breathing air by his breathless lips.

“You should be so lucky.”

She let him go.

Juno stood up in the van, bent in half, eyes locked on the screen. He dropped his phone and grabbed his watch cap with both hands.

“Jesus Christ!”

I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. I exhaled, filled my lungs, panted as I watched Nick Hart crawl out of Eden’s caravan. She darted over to the bed, grabbed the camera, wrenched back the curtains and showed us the landscape outside. Gray earth lit from nowhere like the surface of the moon. Nick Hart fell into a circle of men who were laughing, cheering, trying to bring him to his feet.

“Check up on these guys,” Eden said. She sounded calm. Un-rattled. “I’ll find out their names tomorrow.”

Juno was looking at me. I licked my lips and nodded at the laptop. He understood. Rolled the film back, took a screenshot of the men in Nick Hart’s posse.

“Well, hopefully you get it now,” I said, pulling open the van door again. “Not your type, mate. Not at all.”