Resolution: Evan Warner Book 1 (18 page)

But I still preferred to work alone.

“What?” she asked after a second.

“That was pretty awesome. You meant every word you just said. It was intense.”

“Really?”

I nodded.

“Maybe you’re a bad influence on me.”

“Or a good one.”

“My goal isn’t to be a turbo bitch from hell.”

“It could come in useful, if you learn to bottle it up. Save it for the right people.”

She said, “I’ve always hoped that if I was nice to people, the same would come back to me.”

“That’s great, as long as you’re dealing with other considerate people. But it’s just an open door for opportunists.”

She didn’t respond to that. Instead she said, “About this morning. I need to ask. When you were in their house, were they scared?”

“Very.”

“Good,” she said. “I hate to be that way.”

“People drag it out of you.”

“Yeah,” she exhaled. “I guess they do.”

“Why does every car and every house have a lock built into its door?”

She didn’t answer.

I let it go and just said, “Hang in there. It’s almost over.”

She nodded and seemed to take that statement to heart, and from then on the mood was lighter. We spoke more casually and enjoyed our food. I ordered two more subs to go, and Kendra ordered one to bring home to her father.

24

On my way back to my van, the beard club guy was nowhere to be seen. But the short walk wasn’t without incident.

Up ahead a woman was attempting to walk a golden retriever. She was maybe in her fifties or early sixties. Which really made me wonder. She was yanking the leash like crazy. Jerking the dog’s head every few yards. Snapping it hard. The dog was hacking and choking. I figured someone of her age would have gleaned enough sense in their years to train the dog and avoid that problem.

Apparently not in her case.

What would Clint do?

I stopped. Stood right in the middle of the sidewalk.

Human blockade.

“Excuse me,” she said when she came near. It was a demand, not a request.

I said, “No.”

She halted and looked up at me. A round little woman. Impatient and sharp with her movements and her speech. She was shaped like a little bulldog. The snug pearl necklace around her thick neck reminded me of a studded collar.

“You’re blocking my way,” she said.

“Could be worse.”

“Ex-cuse-me?”

“Worse things could happen,” I said. “Meaning, someone could put a chain on you and snap your neck. See how you like it.”

“I don’t think I appreciate your tone.”

“I don’t appreciate anything about you.”

“Step aside, young man.”

“Make me.”

“I said step aside.”

“Say it again. See if it works.”

“You’re not amusing.”

“Not trying to be.”

“I’ll call the police. How’s that?”

“Go ahead. While you’re calling, I’ll get some video of you choking that dog. We’ll see what they think when they arrive.”

Her scowl deepened. Her resemblance to a bulldog really was uncanny. Maybe that’s why she was so angry. Maybe she was some kind of government experiment, trying to combine the strengths of humans and canines into one package. Like the pigman Kramer saw at the hospital one time on
Seinfeld
.

“I’m asking you to let me by,” she said.

“I will. If you promise to grow a brain. Take the time to train the dog. Maybe try enjoying life a little. Think crazy. Outside the box.”

She said nothing. Just stood there looking at me like I was a creature from Mars sent to persecute her.

“If you’re not smarter than a dog, maybe you shouldn’t have one. Maybe try a hamster. Work up from there.”

“Exactly who do you think you are?”

I said, “Undercover Canine Defense Ministry.”

She grunted.

“Try holding the leash at a consistent length,” I said. “Stop giving slack and then jerking him back. Let him get used to walking at your side.”

She grunted again.

Just then some guy came up beside me. Some young guy wearing a real nice sweater. Reminded me of Zach Morris. Nice hair. Neon teeth.

“Is everything okay here?”

“As long as you keep walking,” I said.

He paused. Then nodded. Smiled.

“Not joking,” I said.

“You’re threatening me?”

“You know anything about history?”

“Of course.”

“Then you should go away. Traditionally people your size have survived by avoiding people my size.”

He stopped smiling. Looked me up and down. Didn’t appear optimistic. Then turned and walked off looking at his smartphone.

I looked back at the bulldog hybrid.

“May I please get by now?” she said.

“Now you’re being polite? That’s funny. Most people try that route first.”

She took a deep breath and sighed heavily. I was waiting for her to snarl and show her teeth.

I stood aside. Made a sarcastic gesture.
This way, your majesty
. Then I got out my phone and acted like I was recording her. She glared at me and then looked ahead, marching along. Maybe she was out shopping for a new personality. Hopefully she’d find one.

The guy in the nice sweater was standing before a laundromat, watching us both. Watching Miss Bulldog jerk the leash and snap her dog’s neck every five steps. It was a slight improvement from when I’d first seen her. At least now she was trying to hold the leash at a steady length.

I turned and went to my van. Opened the slider and let Frank out. No leash. He greeted me with typical glee. I made him sit. Then shake. Gave him a cookie from my pocket. The guy in the sweater watched the whole scene. I looked at him and he gave me a subtle nod. Like, “Yeah, I see your point now.”

“We’re making a difference,” I told Frank. “One dipshit at a time.”

Frank wagged his tail and panted. I took it to mean that he agreed with me completely, though in reality I admit that Frank doesn’t even know which state he lives in.

We got in the van and I pulled out of the parking spot and went up the street half a mile. Kendra was waiting at the end of a side street. I followed her for a few minutes through a windy subdivision. The houses weren’t large and fancy, but they were well kept. In all it was a nice neighborhood of working class stiffs. Average folks.

Kendra pulled in and parked before a ranch with tan vinyl siding. The yard was decent and the house was small but nice. There was an older Ford Explorer parked up by a single garage bay. It was midnight blue. Almost black.

“Bring Frank in,” she called as I parked and stepped out. “My dad will get a kick out of him.”

I opened the slider and Frank jumped out. After a brief sniffing session he marked a young birch tree in the front yard as his own and then followed us into the house.

My first impression of the place was good. There was nothing super fancy about the interior. But I could tell that they cared about their place. It was neat and clean. It was a home. Nothing like the hellhole I’d ventured into that morning.

We entered into a kitchen area and Kendra set her purse on the counter. Frank rushed into the living room, off to my right, and before I got a look at her father, I heard him say, “Holy smoke, look at the size of you!”

“See,” Kendra smiled. “Told you he’d love him.”

I nodded and followed her into the living room. It was clean and in order. There was decent furniture, tables and lamps. A nice TV mounted on the wall. On the far right there was a brick fireplace with a wooden mantle. On the mantle there were pictures of Kendra at various ages, a small picture of a black lab, and at the end of the row a lone picture of a proud man in fatigues. He was young and rugged and tanned. Holding an M16 as he stared at the camera through sunglasses. He was leaning against a Humvee somewhere in the desert. He had a short-trimmed mustache and there was a very faint hint of a grin in the corner of his mouth. Like he was a boy in a man’s body living a wild adventure.

“Dad, this is Evan,” Kendra said.

He said, “So you’re the mean Ace Ventura I’ve been hearing about.”

I looked from the picture on the mantel to the man addressing me. He was a shadow of the man in the photo. His hair was styled like Clark Kent, but that’s where the similarities ended. This man was gaunt and frail and his hair was thinning. His shoulders and knees and elbows made obvious points beneath his clothing. Almost like a scarecrow without enough stuffing. There were deep creases running from his cheeks to his jawline, like age lines in a much older man’s face. He still had the mustache, but it was longer now and going gray. Wearing faded jeans with a flannel shirt tucked in, he was seated beside a cylindrical oxygen tank with a hose leading to a mask. The mask rested an arm’s length away, hooked to an end table.

All at once I understood the big picture from Kendra’s perspective. Nothing she’d told me could have made it any clearer. Her family was small to begin with. The loss of Simon had severed one third of that small unit. And judging by the looks of her father, she didn’t have many more years before she’d be left with nothing but that picture on the mantle.

“Charles Cole,” he said as he stood slowly and extended his hand.

I stepped over and peeled off my gloves and jammed them in my pocket and wiped my hands on my pants and then shook his hand surely without squeezing too firmly. His knuckles seemed enlarged, like with rheumatism. There was no flesh to soften his palms. I could sense all the bones and tendons individually as they worked to grip my larger hand.

“Evan Warner.”

We let go after our quick shake and I stepped back.

“That was your family’s place on the news last night?” he said.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“You put a stop to it, though. That’s all the fortune anyone will remember.”

“I had help from my buddy here.”

Charles Cole had made fast friends with Frank after being assaulted with good will and tail wags. Now he sat back down and let Frank lean on his leg. He ran his hand through Frank’s mane and across his broad hackles admiringly.

“I wouldn’t want this guy chasing me,” he said. “Stick some tusks on him and he’d look like a woolly mammoth.”

“He’s a big mush,” Kendra said.

“I still wouldn’t want him mad at me.”

“I brought you lunch,” she said next. “Come out to the kitchen and eat. I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

He looked at me grinning and said, “By lunch I hope you don’t mean another one of those green health smoothies.”

I made a sympathetic face.

“It’s a nice veggie sub,” Kendra said from the kitchen. “I’m meeting you halfway.”

Charles whispered, “She’s got me on some anti-inflammatory diet. Mostly drywall and bitter greens.”

“Brutal,” I returned under my breath.

“Poor kid thinks she’s gonna pull me back from the inevitable with rabbit food.”

I smiled ironically. Didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t blame Kendra for trying. And couldn’t blame him for his doubt.

Charles stood up carefully and took a cane that had been leaning on the end table. I motioned Frank into the kitchen ahead of us. I didn’t want him bumping into Charles. We walked to the kitchen and I waited for him to choose a chair before I took one. It was like watching my grandfather move in his final years. With loss of muscle comes the loss of balance and stability. Followed by the loss of freedom and dignity. A short walk to a neighboring room must be undertaken with frustrating caution in order to prevent a fall and subsequent injury.

Frank went straight to Kendra’s side. She remarked that she wasn’t used to having a dog in the house who could easily rest his chin on the counter while remaining on all fours. She gave him a treat from a jar on the counter. Then a second treat. Then finished pouring water into the coffee maker and turned around to face us and leaned against the counter.

I looked at her and saw what I took to be a hopeful expression. She already knew my stance. I had signed up to find Simon and that’s what I was going to do. But it meant something to her to have her father’s approval. I couldn’t fault her for that. They obviously functioned as a team. She needed him to be on board with me.

But Kendra wasn’t the only one with a plan.

Once I was seated, I broke the silence by asking about the Ace Ventura comment.

Kendra laughed. “That wasn’t me. I told him you loved dogs. He made up the rest on his own.”

“Guilty,” Charles said, and I could detect the same hint of a grin I’d observed in his picture. I could also hear that he was winded from the short walk.

“I guess it’s not a terribly inaccurate description,” I said.

“She told me you were an intimidating guy who seemed genuinely concerned about Simon. Almost like you took it personally. The rest was just my sense of humor. You need a sense of humor to handle this life. If nothing else, I’ve learned that lesson well.”

“Speaking of humor,” I said. “Kendra tells me you’re a fellow admirer of Bob Wiley.”

He nodded, smiling. “That’s one of my all-time favorites. Bill Murray and Chevy Chase made some great stuff back in the day. Ah, the comedians nowadays just don’t do it for me. Stupid and crude aren’t the same as funny.”

“What about
Anchorman
?” I asked.

Kendra groaned and made her pretty face ugly, like she smelled a skunk.

“Pretty good,” Charles said. “Will Ferrell’s pretty darn funny. Will and Jim Carey are about the best we have left nowadays.”

“You gotta like
Dumb & Dumber
.”

“I do, I do.”

“
Liar, Liar
?”

“Please. One of the best.”

“Do you watch war movies, Evan?” Kendra asked.

“The realistic ones, yeah. Not much of the superhero stuff.”

“Then you guys will have tons to talk about,” she said. “He’ll sit up way past midnight watching war movies and documentaries. I have to send him to bed like a little kid when I get home from work.”

Charles made eye contact with me and I understood without a word the actual reason for his late nights. Kendra was his life. Just as he was her life. No way could he get to sleep in peace until she was home for the night.