Resolution: Evan Warner Book 1 (8 page)

13

We exchanged numbers and got up from the table. Kendra asked once more if I was sure I wanted to go through with the plan. I was sure. She hugged me and thanked me. Then she hugged Frank with extra gusto. Which he greatly appreciated.

“The Bensons’ house is number one twenty-one,” she told me. “It’s an ugly blue place. The paint is all chipped.”

“Got it,” I said.

“Thanks again for your help. Really.”

“Thanks for the coffee.”

“Small price.”

“Still appreciated. Go get ready for work.”

“Yeah, it’s getting to be that time,” she said and slid into her car. Started it. Looked over at me. Backed out and went home to change for work.

Once she was gone I got Frank loaded in the van. We headed for Bow Street.

In five minutes we were there. I turned off Central Street onto Bow and cruised along slowly under the glow of the street lamps. A group of kids were playing basketball by one of the slum apartment buildings. Most of the houses had lights on inside. People were sitting out on porches, smoking. Hanging out.

Some of the house numbers were difficult to see. Or nonexistent. But number 121 was on a battered post at the end of the short driveway. The place was dark. I could just see the weathered blue paint. My headlights caught the orange lettering of the dog signs on the rotting picket fence.

I would have slowed down for a closer look, but some idiot was tailgating the hell out of me. One of my lifelong dreams has always been to have a militarized vehicle. Sort of like James Bond. Armor plating. Machine guns on the front. Flaming chaff and spike dispensers on the back to repel tailgaters.

Hey, it doesn’t hurt to dream a little.

I went on up the street with the houses and apartment buildings on my left and the old red-brick mill buildings on my right. The shadow of those hulking buildings seemed to make everything darker. The street was like its own little world.

Then the road curved and became Circle Drive, moving away from the mills. There were ten or twelve houses spread out in a wide circle. Behind them, a very steep grade of brush and roots led up to trees and the corner of an old Colonial cemetery. It was like some developer had blasted off a corner of a hill to make a lot for cheap houses.

I cruised by the house Lucy Kurtz had lived in. Though it was one of the better places in that section, it still wasn’t anything enviable. It was a party spot and a crash pad, subsidized by the government. Part of me wanted to kick the door in. Fire a few warning shots into the ceiling and demand to be told everything they knew. No bullshit for the TV reporters. They knew who took the girl. They had to. And I’d been daydreaming of confronting them for almost a year. Not because I wanted Lucy reunited with her mother and aunt. That wasn’t a terribly appealing prospect. It was barely better than the prospect of her being dead. What worried me most was the idea that she was alive. Alive and suffering in the custody of even worse people.

I didn’t stop. Didn’t kick any doors or fire any warning shots. I just drove by and looped around back onto to Bow Street and drove back up to Central Street.

At the lights I took a left on Central and just up the street turned left into the Lion’s Club. Their parking lot merged with the rear corner of the fire department’s lot. The front of the firehouse faced the very beginning of Bow Street, bordering the end of the first big mill. I parked between an old Volvo and a Ford truck. Got out and pulled on a black windbreaker. The night was getting cool. And I wanted cover for my pistol. A Ruger SR9. A fairly compact nine millimeter.

“Be good,” I told Frank. “I’ll be back soon.”

He whined and gave me this look, like, “Why can’t I go? Dude, I thought we were a team.”

I ignored his imploring look. Locked the van and walked through the narrow alley between the club and the firehouse. Turned right by the front of the firehouse and went along the sidewalk opposite the houses. I moved along casually, not rushing. Trying to be observant without obviously staring.

I passed only a few people, mostly teenagers. My hat shaded my eyes from the glow of the streetlamps. I tried making eye contact with one girl, as a sort of test to see if anyone would be suspicious of my presence. I couldn’t tell. She never looked up in passing. Just kept her head down and walked on. Maybe I appeared a little more intimidating than I assumed myself to look. Or maybe she was just preoccupied.

The ugly blue house was completely dark. It almost looked abandoned. There were no lights inside or out. I moved by and went maybe two hundred yards before crossing the road and heading back. I slowed before it. The house to the right was dark. The house on the left had one or two small lights on inside. I couldn’t see anyone on any of the porches. Everything looked still.

Time to make a quick decision. Head back to my van or proceed. Check out this house. See what I could find.

Five seconds later, I was just making up my mind to move forward, when I heard a voice. A woman’s voice. It caught me by surprise. It came from the left. From the dark porch of the house with a few lights on inside.

“They’re not home.”

I looked but at first I couldn’t see her. The porch was in shadows and my eyes were straining to adjust.

“Right here,” she said, and waved her hand.

Now I could just see her in the shadows. She was small and appeared gray-headed. As my eyes focused, my first impression was that she was an older Asian woman. She looked to be wearing a sweater. She had what I took to be a red quilt draped over her legs. Or some sort of blanket. To me it wasn’t very cold out. Evidently it was to her.

“They’re not home,” she said again.

“Who’s not home?”

“The boys.”

“Jared and Seth?” I said, to let her know that I wasn’t just casing a random house.

“As I said, they’re not home,” she replied. “Have yourself a good night.”

“Too bad,” I muttered, trying to sound disappointed.

“Bad is right,” she muttered, barely audible. Then she looked away.

It seemed she expected me to leave. But I didn’t cooperate. I just stood there.

“Wonder when they’ll get back,” I said. Not exactly a direct question.

“Tell me,” she said, looking back at me. “What could you want with those two? You look like a respectable young man.”

I didn’t answer right away. I wondered what made me look respectable. I was wearing tan hiking pants. The sort that could be mistaken for khakis. With my dark windbreaker combined with the tan pants, perhaps to her eyes I appeared as someone who had their act together and cared about their appearance.

Then I moved a few steps closer to her place. I stopped in her driveway and stood there looking at her. Asking without words for her permission to approach.

“Come over,” she said. “No use broadcasting our voices.”

I went up to the edge of her porch. It had no screening. Once I was close I could see her quite clearly in the low light. She was in fact a petite Asian woman. She was no spring chicken, but more than old or infirmed, she struck me as tired.

“You’re not a friend of theirs,” she said. “I’ve never seen you around here before. What business do you have with them?”

I ducked her question and said, “You know them well?”

“Since they were born. Plenty of times I looked after those boys while their mother slaved to keep a roof over their heads.”

I said, “Can’t say I know their mother.” Suggesting again that I did know her sons.

“You wouldn’t, I suppose. She gave up and moved away years ago. Finally met a man that was good to her. A man named Moore. They live up in the lakes region now. Have a good life, from what I hear.”

I waited a moment before saying, “Any idea when Jared or Seth will be back?”

“Probably long after I’ve locked up and gone to bed.”

Shit
.
Saturday night and they were probably out stealing more dogs. Or fighting dogs.

Very quietly the old woman said, “You’re not in their sort of business, are you?”

“No.”

“Then my assumption was correct. You’re not the sort to be mixed up in their mess. So what could you possibly want with them?”

I didn’t answer right away. I wasn’t sure if I was being played by a nosy old woman. She might be loyal to the Bensons. Or she might have nothing else to do but talk to random people passing by. She didn’t strike me as a liar. But I couldn’t be sure. Her lack of body language made her a difficult person to read.

“I don’t approve of them,” she finally said.

That was enough for me. There was truth in her tone.

“You’re not the first one I’ve heard that from,” I said.

“The men they’ve become are nothing like the boys they once were. So if you’re looking to do business with the Benson boys, I’ll ask you kindly to be on your way.”

To hell with it
, I thought, and decided to speak the truth.

“Actually, I’m looking for a missing dog. On behalf of a friend. Rumor has it that this is the place to start looking.”

She was nodding slowly before I finished.

“These boys always have dogs,” she muttered. “Different dogs all the time. Other people’s dogs. There’s always something going on.”

“What do you think of that?”

“Shameful,” she answered. “They were raised better than that.”

“Do they trust you?”

“Always have. No reason not to. But if I hadn’t known them all their lives, I wouldn’t trust them for a second.”

“So they are a problem?”

“About the worst problem on this street.”

“What would you say if I told you that I’m looking to put a stop to their operation?”

“Someone ought to,” she said. “Unfortunately, apathy reigns in this neighborhood these days.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Long enough to see it deteriorate,” she answered.

I nodded.

“I came here in nineteen seventy. Twenty-one years old. A world away from Vietnam. Married myself an American boy with a good heart and a mind to making a good life for us. And that he did, as best he could. Things were okay for a long time. We were well into the eighties before things started going downhill around here. Went from bad to worse. My husband passed nearly four years ago now. It was bad enough then. It’s worse now.”

I said, “Sorry.” Didn’t know what else to say.

After a pause she asked, “What are you planning?”

I hesitated. It didn’t feel quite right to just come out and say I was planning on handling them like a wrecking ball handles an old building. Like a steamroller handles fresh pavement.

“Never mind, young man. It’s probably best that you don’t tell me. In fact, I don’t even want to know your name.”

I nodded. It was probably for the best.

Then the sound of approaching footsteps kept us both silent. I held perfectly still in the shadow of the porch as two people passed. Two teenagers. A boy and a girl. They were talking and walking briskly. Not paying attention to anything other than themselves. They were well up the street before I spoke again.

I asked, “Any idea when they’ll be home?”

“Likely late.”

“Okay.”

“Some friendly advice,” she said. “Don’t spend a lot of time walking up and down this street. You stand out. Outsiders always do. And officer Randal will eventually be by. He’ll take notice.”

“Who’s that?”

“A friend to all that’s wrong with this side of town, hiding behind a badge. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“It’s good of you to warn me.”

She leaned forward in her chair so that her face was over the porch railing.

“I don’t know if it’s good or not. All I know is that I’m tired of things as they are. It hurts to watch one’s community fall apart this way.”

“I hear you,” I said. “That’s sort of how I got involved. I’m tired of a few things myself.”

“One more thing. The older boy, Jared, is the brain. The younger one, Seth, is bigger. About your size, I’d guess. He’s dangerous in a way, but in the end he’s only a follower. Been following his older brother since he could walk. Jared is the slippery one. Certainly the more dangerous of the two. Don’t trust him. And don’t turn your back on him for a second.”

I nodded. Thanked her.

“I’m old and I don’t need any trouble,” she said next. “You can understand why I’ll deny ever speaking with you, if it should ever come up.”

“Fair enough.”

“What are you planning?”

“I need to search the place. Make sure I’m on the right trail.”

“Try the back door,” she whispered. “They always bring dogs through that back door. The basement door is just across from it. I’ve watched them from my kitchen window plenty of times. Never once have I seen them use a key. For all I know, they lost it years ago. Too lazy to get a new one cut.”

I thanked her again and then walked up the driveway in the dark.