Wrong Town: A Mark Landry Novel (10 page)

Twenty-six

When Julia arrived home, her grandmother was in the kitchen cooking enough rice, beans, and chicken to feed an army. She kissed her gently on the cheek and set the envelope on the counter.

“
Te lo manda Luci, Abuela
.”
Luci sent you this.

She climbed the stairs to the second-floor bathroom and locked the door behind her. Then she pulled the small box from her pocket and opened it, finding a handwritten note and a tiny black pouch.

Julia,

You need the space to become your own person so I won’t be checking in on you as much. If you need me, I will always be here for you. Until then, I’ve asked this little guy to watch over you. —Luci

Julia opened the drawstring on the pouch, held it upside down, and shook it gently until a silver necklace with a guardian angel charm slid into the palm of her hand. She grasped the clasp with two fingers, dangled the gift in front of her eyes, and smiled. Then came the tears.

Thank you, Luci.

Twenty-seven

Ghassan muted the television in the corner of the small dining room while shaking his head and muttering something under his breath in Arabic. Balancing the red tray in front of him, he wobbled his large, seventy-two-year-old frame over to the booth in front of the window. The tray pitched back and forth as he walked, but miraculously the drinks did not spill.

After placing the tray on the table and wiping his sweaty forehead with a dirty handkerchief, he squeezed himself into the booth across from Officer John McDonough.

“How long have I lived here, John?” he asked in good but heavily accented English.

McDonough grabbed his chicken shawarma and drink from the tray.

“A long time. As long as I can remember.”

“That’s right! A long time, right? Since long before this violence became so commonplace,” he said, pointing angrily at the television.

McDonough finished chewing and took a long, slow sip of fruit punch.

“What happened now?” he asked.

“Same shit. Yesterday I was sweeping in front of the restaurant and a car full of teenagers drove by me chanting “USA! USA! USA!” I’ve been an American citizen longer than they been alive. But they are just stupid kids. Their parents worry me more.”

Ghassan pulled the remote control out of his apron and clicked off the TV. “How many people live in this town? Four thousand? Five thousand?”

              “About that.”

              “When Aaeesha—Jesus bless her soul
—
and I came here from Beirut, it was half that. We came to get away from wars and live in peace. Live free or die, right? And I opened this place
—
the great Baba Ghassan’s! Best shawarma in all New Hampshire.”

              McDonough smiled and nodded as he continued to chew.

              “But over last few years, people have started treating me different. They stop talking when I enter stores and constantly ask me what I think about terrorists and Islam and all kinds of stupid shit that has nothing to do with me. When I tell them I’ve been a Christian my whole life, I can see in their eyes that they don’t believe me. None of them know anyone who was ever killed by terrorists, but I lost many friends and family to these pigs in my life. And it kills me that I have to answer for them.”

Ghassan paused, turned his head toward the kitchen, and shouted loudly and unexpectedly.

“Yasir! Yasir! Come out here!”

McDonough, startled, dropped his thick plastic cup, spilling his remaining fruit punch onto the dark wooden table. When the puddle reached the edge, blood-red droplets fell in slow motion before bursting one at a time against the white tiled floor. He sat frozen, eyes fixed on the spill, until the sound of Ghassan’s voice brought him back to the present.  

“And bring a towel!”

“Shit, I’m sorry, Ghassan,” he said, trying to shake off the fog.

“No problem. I need to keep this kid busy anyway.”

The kitchen door swung open, and a thin male in his early twenties entered the dining room, wearing a Yankees cap cocked to one side. The cord from his headphones ran underneath his t-shirt to the iPhone in his front pocket. A small piece of paper towel dangled from one hand as the other danced to the hip-hop playing loudly in his ears.

Ghassan shouted louder this time.

“I said bring a towel, not a tissue! A towel, Yasir! How can you clean this mess with that?” he said, pointing at the spill with both hands.

Yasir nodded, spun around to the beat of the music, and kicked open the swinging door to the kitchen.

“And stop kicking my door!”

McDonough oscillated his gaze between the kitchen and Ghassan but said nothing.

“Don’t be deceived by appearances, John. He is even dumber than he looks.”

Yasir quickly reappeared with two white kitchen towels, headphones now wrapped around his neck. He spread the first towel out over the table, let the second drop to the floor, and used his foot to wipe up the mess. McDonough stared at the table as a small red spot appeared in center of the towel and quickly spread. He redirected his attention out the window to his cruiser in the parking lot.

“This is Yasir, my cousin’s grandchild. He is staying with me for a while.”

“Good to meet you,” said McDonough with a nod.

“Whassup?” answered Yasir with a raise of his chin.

Ghassan stifled the urge to burst out angrily again and spoke instead in a slow, deliberate tone.

“Whassup? Is that how a man speaks to another man? Can you not see he is an authority figure? Not to mention older than you, a Marine Corps veteran, and soon to be blessed by God with a son of his own. Yasir, if you want to be taken seriously in this country, you have to be a serious man.”

“Sorry, Ammu. It’s nice to meet you, sir,” Yasir said with a smile as he extended his hand to McDonough.

“Same here.”

Ghassan waited for Yasir to finish cleaning the mess and return to the kitchen before speaking.

“He is dumb as a bag of falafel, but I try not to be too hard on him because he’s been through a lot. His father moved their family—all Christians—from Lebanon to Syria for a job just before the fighting started. Almost a year ago, Yasir went to the capital to do errands for his father. By the time he returned, the whole neighborhood was blown to shit by explosions and fighting. Most of his family was dead and his two little sisters, whom he practically raised, had been taken as prisoners. So he walked over fifty miles to the Lebanese border. He’s stupid, but it’s not his fault. He just needs direction and a purpose, anything besides the hip-hop that now tortures me day and night.”

They were both chuckling at that last phrase as the radio on McDonough’s belt came to life.

“Station to Officer McDonough.”

“McDonough,” he answered.

“Can you please swing by the cemetery and speak to the caretakers about some headstones that were vandalized?”

“Roger, en route.”

He sprung to his feet and reached for his wallet.

“Go, it’s on me, John. Headstones? Jesus, help us. Is nothing sacred these days?” said Ghassan as he wiggled his way out of the booth.

McDonough peeled a ten-dollar bill from his money clip, slapped it on the table, and spoke over his shoulder on the way out the door.

“Thanks, Ghassan. Have a good one.”

As the officer reached for the cruiser’s door handle, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window and froze again. The front of his heavily starched white uniform shirt was splattered with dark red stains. He breathed deeply through his nose and reassured himself as he slowly opened the door and slid behind the wheel.

Deep breath and exhale. Deep breath and exhale. It’s not blood. It’s not blood. It’s not blood.

McDonough put the cruiser in drive and pulled away from the diner while adjusting the rear-view mirror. As he turned left onto Main Street and headed toward the cemetery, he caught a brief glimpse of Ghassan and Yasir standing expressionless, side by side, staring at him out the front window of Baba Ghassan’s.

It’s not blood, John. It’s. Not. Blood. And this is not Fallujah.

Twenty-eight

Andy O’Rourke was at the tail end of his story when Mark and Luci quietly entered the Witch Hunt. He stood on the raised hearth of the fireplace, surrounded by a sea of eager townspeople who hung on his every word in complete silence. Early in his presentation there had been one distraction, the grumbling of an old ice machine in the corner of the bar, but after seeing a few annoying glances, Lee Carter, the bar owner, silenced it by stepping on its cord with one foot and kicking the electrical socket with the other.

A waitress waved to Luci from the far end of the bar.

“Follow me,” Luci told Mark.

Mark obeyed the instruction and stayed close behind Luci as they weaved their way in and out of the silent multitude of men and women standing shoulder to shoulder. The waitress pointed to a small table in the corner of the bar. Luci mouthed
thank you.
Then she held up two fingers with one hand and brought the thumb of her other hand up to her lips, indicating that she wanted two beers. The waitress acknowledged the order with a wink and a nod.

Mark sat with his back to the wall and scanned the room. He leaned across the table and whispered to Luci, “Is it always like this here?”

“Only when he’s on stage.”

Andy moved slowly from one end of the fieldstone hearth to the other as he played to the room, his words charming the crowd. Luci and Mark did not notice the waitress as she quietly set two beers on the table without taking her eyes off the show. Andy’s voice intensified as he built to the climax. He paused methodically after each line to let his words float through the air and melt into the crowd.

“The naked man lay flat on his back, covered by a wooden plank that left only his head exposed … the crowd heckled and shamed him as their demands for a confession grew louder and louder … town officials stacked the largest stones and boulders they could find on top of the wooden plank … his face turned red as a tomato and you could hear his bones start to crack … witnesses say his eyes looked like they were going to pop right out of their sockets … his tongue was squeezed right out of his mouth and oozed down the side of his face … the sheriff used his cane to tuck it back in … and just as it seemed that the old man was about to release his final breath and cross over to the afterlife, he mustered every ounce of his remaining energy and tried to speak … the interrogator silenced the jeering townspeople and knelt next to the accused … he put his ear against the dying man’s mouth and strained to hear what he could only imagine would be a full confession … an admission that he had indeed willingly entered into an evil pact with the Prince of Darkness himself … he struggled for oxygen … then he opened his mouth and offered only two simple words for his executioners … ‘More weight!’ ”

The crowd burst with laughter at the punch line. Andy slowly bent down, picked up his empty glass, and raised it high above his head.

“And on that note
—
more beer, barkeep!”

He leapt from the hearth and disappeared into the crowd. The laughter faded into applause and the rapping of knuckles on the tables and bar.

              Mark turned his attention back to Luci.

“He should run for mayor.”

“He’d win.”

The audience dissipated as people took their seats and spread out around the bar. A third of the crowd left immediately. Lee Carter stood by the door and grinned at them as they exited.

“Good night. Thanks for coming. Come again. Thank you, great to see you all.”

It wouldn’t kill you to buy a drink and eat some wings.

Twenty-nine

“So what happened? Why did you guys break up?” asked Luci, slowly draining the last sip of her beer.

“I don’t think I would characterize it as a breakup. It was probably over before it even started. As always, I had to travel for work. When I was gone, she had more shoes under her bed than a Holiday Inn.”

Luci struggled unsuccessfully not to laugh and quickly brought a napkin to her mouth to keep the beer from escaping. Mark smiled widely.

“It’s funny now. At the time, not so much.”

“I still can’t believe you dated a stripper.”

“Luci, please
—exotic dancer
. And she claimed to be retired. Anyway, now that I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself by sharing my awful judgment, what’s your story? How come you’re still single?”

Luci finished wiping her mouth and looked at the lipstick-stained napkin.

“I’ve had some dates over the years and maybe one or two guys I would call boyfriends, but no one who ever had any real potential.”

“How come?”

“Who knows, Mark? And I don’t lose any sleep over it. Maybe it’s the same as with you
—
the job gets in the way. I don’t want to date another cop because I don’t want my whole life to be about the job. And civilians can’t seem to ever get past it. Being a cop is a big part of me, but not all of me. Get it?”

“More than you can imagine.”

Luci’s expression turned sour and she rolled her eyes.

“Luuuci! You have some ’splaining to do!” said an approaching voice.

Mark turned to see a man in his mid-thirties with a beer glass in one hand and dragging a chair behind him with the other. On top of his wavy brown hair sat a pair of dark-framed, oversized sunglasses. Two days of scruff covered his handsome face, and his untucked blue oxford cloth shirt was mostly unbuttoned, revealing a white tank top underneath. He put his glass on the table, spun the chair around with one hand, and sat down uninvited. Then he leaned back and clasped his hands behind his thick head of hair.

“Lee tells me there’s been more graffiti,” he said matter-of-factly.

“What do you want, Charlie? Can’t you see we were having a discussion?” she said with a nod in Mark’s direction.

“I’m just asking a question, Luci. Most of us know you’ll eventually figure it out and save the day. Others say putting you in that position was a mistake because of your background. But rest assured, the people who matter know that’s not true and you have our support.”

“My background? What that’s supposed to mean?

“Your ethnicity, whatever. Those people don’t matter anyway. Just forget it. I still have some influence down there, so let me know if I can help. There’s some benefit to being an outsider to the community you police. You know, not being so familiar. But I’m sure you’re doing a great job. Besides, it ain’t exactly Queens down there, right?”

Mark watched as Luci’s breath quickened and her chest started to rise and fall visibly. This guy was pushing her buttons, but she shrugged it off as quickly as it came on and forced a smile.

“And I thank you for that. It’s nice to know you’ve got my back,” she replied with a hint of sarcasm so slight Mark knew it must have been for his benefit.

The man turned his attention to Mark, who was scanning the crowd.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Mark this is Charlie Worth. Charlie, Mark Landry.”

Mark slowly turned his head and the two men locked eyes. Charlie offered his hand.

“Good to meet you, Mark. You on the job?

“On the job? You mean am I a cop? No. No. Civilian. I’ll leave the dangerous stuff to the professionals,” he answered, politely shaking Charlie’s extended hand.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I spent five years in Queens before transferring to this country club. Suffice it to say I had a lot of close calls. This place is a cakewalk,” he said, redirecting his gaze to Luci. “As long as you can handle a little graffiti.”

“I can only imagine,” replied Mark.

“So, what do you do?”

“Me? You mean for a living? I’m an environmental cleanup consultant.”

“Oh, okay. Like what?” pressed Charlie in a slightly less friendly tone.

“It’s boring, mostly paperwork, and hard to explain.” He leaned forward slightly before continuing. “But let’s call it quality control.”

Charlie smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“Sounds good to me. God knows we need good people to do that stuff too.”

A woman approached Charlie from behind and yanked the sunglasses from his head.

“I can see why you need these, Charlie. It’s wicked dark in here,” she said with a thick Massachusetts accent.

Charlie brought a hand to his head and spun around in his chair to face the woman. His neck and face started to turn red.

“Has he mentioned Queens yet?” she asked rhetorically in Luci and Mark’s direction. Luci smiled while Mark watched, expressionless.

“Can I have my glasses please, Wendy?” Charlie asked through clenched teeth.

“Shooah. All you gotta do is leave these nice people alone. I’ll be at the other side of the bah. If you want ’em, come and get ’em.”

She winked at Luci, nodded at Mark, and walked to the other side of the Witch Hunt, wearing a proud grin from ear to ear.

Charlie shook his head back and forth, his mounting anger and embarrassment betrayed by a reddening face and neck. He stood up, pushed in his chair, and left without another word.

“My coworkers,” said Luci.

“Yeah, I figured that out on my own. Is he the exception?”

“Exception to what?”

“The night I arrived, you said you liked just about everyone in the department. I’m guessing he’s the exception.”

Luci nodded vigorously and displayed an exaggerated look of surprise.

“I’m impressed. I guess you do listen. Point for Mark. And what do you make of him after this very brief encounter?”

Mark finished his beer and set the glass on the table.

“He’s pretty much a douchebag.”

She stared at him with disappointment.

“Minus two points. Do you try to be obnoxious or does it come naturally?”

Mark dropped his shoulders and head. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Here we go again. She’s going to make me say it.

“Luci, I am sorry for being crude, classless, and dismissive of your question. May I take another whack at it? Please?”

“Yes, you may,” she answered approvingly.

“Okay. He still hangs his hat on the few years he spent in a tougher environment before joining your department. He is probably the only cop here with that experience, but there are likely a few ex-military cops on the force who he thinks are somehow his peers. I also suspect that he’s the guy you replaced as community liaison, because he’s busting your chops about something that probably didn’t start until after he left the position or he wouldn’t be mentioning it … he seemed to enjoy pointing it out to you. Probably he was replaced because there were too many complaints that he was alienating people. He clearly has an issue with women, especially authority figures like the one who just snatched his glasses. My guess is that she outranks him because he didn’t go after her in the same passive-aggressive style that he used with you. Maybe he has issues stemming from his relationship with his own mother … who knows. How am I doing so far?”

“I’m not sure about his relationship with his mother, but the rest of it is perfect. You get your points back. But you did leave out one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That he’s pretty much a douchebag,” she said in a low whisper as she leaned across the table. “I have to go to the lady’s room, and then I’m ready to leave whenever you are. Here comes your friend.”

Mark watched as Luci stood up and disappeared into the crowd. He chuckled to himself as several other men casually glanced away from their dates to follow Luci with their eyes.

Does she even notice the gawking? Or is she just used to it?

“Mark Landry!” boomed a voice from behind as two large hands came down on his shoulders and shook them excitedly.

Mark stood and turned. Andy O’Rourke was looking down on him with his arms spread wide open.

“Give me a hug, little man!”

“Little man? You’re not looking down because I’m little. You’re looking down because you’re part
—
”

Andy pulled him in tightly before he could finish.

“Part sasquatch,” Mark said in a muffled voice, face pressed firmly against the big man’s chest.

“Still in one piece, I see! Great to have you home. How long will you be around? Are you staying for good this time? Where’d Luci go? Are you two still an item—or an item again? What have you been doing with yourself? Can you talk about it or would you have to kill me? Say, can you come by and speak to my social studies classes sometime about your experiences? Probably not, right? Scratch that. Talk to me! Tell me something good, my friend!”

“Good to see you too, Andy. You look great. Teaching and coaching football, I hear?” Mark replied.

“Yup. Social studies chair, assistant varsity football coach, raconteur and bon vivant! Life is good, my friend. I do this every Thursday. I bring in the bodies and Lee pays my tab at the end of the night, as long as I don’t buy too many drinks for others. He’s a nice guy but he squeezes every nickel until the buffalo farts, if you know what I mean.”

“Sounded like a great story, but I missed the beginning because we got here a little late and had to park way down the street. Was all of that true?”

“Most of it,” he answered with a wink.

Luci reappeared at Andy’s side and wrapped one of her arms around his thick waist, her lips bright red again with fresh lipstick.

“How’s it going, Coach?”

“
Hola, Señora! Cómo está usted
?” replied Andy, unsuccessfully trying to mask his abundant gringo accent.

“I’m good. Nice job tonight. You have a gift, my friend.”

“It’s about time you came out to see me. I was starting to think you didn’t like me. And I’m glad you dragged this guy with you. It’s great to see the two of you together again.”

Mark beamed with approval at the comment, but Luci glared back at Andy with her best poker face. He sensed the awkwardness.

“Well, some lucky guy better make an honest woman out of you soon. You should be a grandmother by now.”

Luci exhaled deeply and shook her head while Mark looked away to scan the bar. Andy dropped his head and groaned out loud.

“You know, I’m an idiot. Please don’t listen to me. I’m great up there,” he said, pointing to the stone hearth with his chin, “but sometimes I really suck down here. I’m sorry, Luci. Please don’t read into that comment too much. I missed yet another excellent opportunity to keep my big mouth shut.”

She squeezed his waist one last time before letting go.

“Don’t sweat it, Andy. You’re a man. You can’t help it.”

“Touché, Madame.”

“Mark, I have to talk to someone for a second. After that, let’s get out of here. I have an early day tomorrow.”

Both men watched as Luci walked across the room and leaned over the bar to speak with Lee Carter. Andy excitedly broke the silence.

“Hey, as part of the annual Independence Day festivities this Fourth of July, the town is having a special recognition ceremony for its veterans on Founders Field. It’s going to be a big to-do, complete with marching band, cheerleaders, the whole football team, and yours truly as speaker. I know there’s no way you’ll sit as one of the honored,” he said, pointing his beefy index finger at Mark. “But you should swing by and at least check it out. I’ve been pushing this idea for years. The town elders have finally given in.”

“Yeah, if I’m around I’ll definitely check it out.”

Behind the bar, Lee Carter nodded and Luci shook his hand. Then she turned around, made eye contact with Mark, and motioned toward the door with her head.

“Looks like my bus is leaving. It’s good to see you, man. Let’s get together soon and catch up, okay?”

“You got it. And please apologize to Luci again for me. I didn’t mean anything by that stupid comment.”

“I will, but you shouldn’t worry about it too much. Something tells me she’s used to it.”

Andy watched Mark weave his way through the crowd toward the door.

That’s what I’m afraid of.