Author: CJ Birch
Category: Other
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Elle nodded, stoic, aware of being onstage, her performance judged by the entire town. “How many people would it take to do something like that?”
McGrath shrugged and moved his tobacco from one cheek to the other. He spat a wad onto the ground. “Depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“On how they got the car onto the well. There’s lifting, then there’s coaxing. Lifting takes more manpower for sure. Coaxing could take less.”
Elle shook her head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Well,” he let the word draw out for several seconds, thinking of the best way to explain. “See. A car’s heavy.”
Elle rolled her eyes. “Yes. Thank you, McGrath. I realize a car is heavy.”
“But people can lift ’em. You seen those strongman competitions where they lift the back end of a car? Those fuckers are strong. But I doubt we got anyone in town who can do that. Not by themselves anyway.” He spat again, missing Elle’s black boots by less than an inch. “Now if you got a bunch of men to do it, that’s possible. The frame on a Mustang is steel. Steel’s heavy. If this were a Saturn, I’d say maybe two really strong men. But with a Mustang you’re looking at around three thousand pounds or thereabouts. That’s a lot of weight to lift by yourself. Adrenaline could help.”
“McGrath.”
“Yep?”
“How many guys?”
He squinted up into the sky. A vulture circled in the distance, somewhere above the back roads leading out to the Old Bailey farm. “A lot a guys make a lot a noise. So I’d say you’re looking for a lot less than a lot.”
“Jesus, McGrath, go find something useful to do.”
“Sure thing, Sheriff.” McGrath sauntered away, disappearing as the crowd swallowed him.
The main strip had gone quiet. It was the sound of fifty odd people gathered close, straining to hear. In the distance, a radio guttered to life. Static washed through the streets, mingling with the oppressive heat rising from the ground. It was claustrophobic, impossible to escape.
Elle turned from the sea of eyes, hoping the car could stall the inevitable, a decision. A sparrow landed on the hood, hopped a couple feet, pecked at a spot of mud, left a calling card, and fluttered off.
The quiet shattered. “What the fuck is this?”
“Jesus.” Elle spoke so quietly, it was almost mouthed. She didn’t turn from the car. Instead, she watched in the driver’s window as the mayor forced his way through the wall of people and up the few steps to the well to stand next to her. Still, she didn’t turn. She tried to focus on the car and ignore the heavy breathing happening beside her.
“What the fuck is this?” Brady kicked the back tire. The air inside absorbed the sound and gave back a dull thump. It floated into the air with Brady’s question, echoing in the stillness. “I told you months ago you should’ve sent him to military school. Get some goddamn discipline through those thick red Ashley curls.” He smacked his hand down on the trunk of the car. It teetered for a moment. The audience gasped. More than a few hoped it would slide off its perch and add to the telling later.
Elle jumped at the sound, then turned, her movements molasses. A million things rushed through her mind at once, most of which focused on how to put Brady in his place. But blind rage was blocking all rational thought. How dare he treat her like some child? Like a subordinate who had disobeyed an order? Her face and ears had gone red. Her fists unfurled and she planted them on her hips.
Through it all, she was aware of Robin, who had sidled up to Case a few minutes ago. Robin’s focus was so intently on her it made her all the more self-conscious of her reaction.
Elle could hear the smack of satisfaction on the crowd’s lips as if they were consuming this face-off like a meal they enjoyed. She wouldn’t allow them to be sated. Without answering Brady, she turned and descended the worn stone steps of the well and stalked off toward her office. She passed Randy stomping toward the inevitable.
In the distance, she heard him scream, “What the hell happened to my car?”
Unable to stop herself, she smiled.
When Elle entered the station, a young woman was sitting behind the reception desk. “Morning, Heather. Feeling better?” But Elle didn’t wait to hear the answer. She rushed into her office and slammed the door.
Heather nodded, even though there was no one to see it. After a moment, she went back to the files on her desk, clicking away on each file, some of them ancient. She was trying to digitize Turlough. Her hair fell in strips over her face; a combination of frizz and grease kept it from becoming one cohesive mess.
Elle stuck her head out of her office. “Can you get Stan to come in?”
Heather’s whole face brightened. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she dialed. Elle watched her, seeing the anticipation on Heather’s lips as she said Stan’s name. The smile went all the way to her eyes. She was pretty when she smiled.
When she hung up the phone, she caught Elle watching and blushed. “He’s on his way. Is this about the car?”
Elle nodded. “Where’s Neil?”
Heather shrugged. “Probably at Tully’s getting some coffee.”
“That’s a great idea.” Elle sighed. Anything to avoid Ken Brady and Randy Pritchard’s car. Before she could take two steps, Brady barged through the door, followed by Case.
“So, what? You’re just going to leave the car out there to become a permanent tourist attraction?” He pointed behind him, emphasizing that there was a car sitting on top of a well outside. As if she’d forgotten.
“Why not? It’ll make a better pull than some stupid pie and beer festival. We could advertise on the interstate. ‘Come look at Randy Pritchard’s car!’ Rent out a billboard. The born-agains are doing it, why not us? We could put your face on it. People would come from miles away.”
“Elle.” Case’s stern look stopped her from continuing with what she was about to say.
“What?” She let out a long breath. “I’ve got Stan coming in. He’ll investigate. I’ll call Kate to get Randy’s car off the stupid well and everything will go back to normal.”
“That dyke?” If possible, Brady’s face pinched in even farther as he said it. Elle cringed at the name he used for the only female mechanic in the county. “Get Cabe to do it.”
“I’m not having that man anywhere near that vehicle.” In truth, she had a good feeling he’d helped put it there. “He’s got too much work as it is. I need this investigation—”
“Investigation?” Brady said it like an insult. “Like there’s going to be witnesses? Who the fuck are you kidding? We know who did this.”
Before he had finished, Elle was nodding her head. “Yes, investigate. I can’t arrest people without evidence, Brady.”
“Evidence. Jesus, fuck, Elle. How can you be so blind? This isn’t skipping school or smoking pot at the Maverty house. This is theft and destruction of property. The Baker kid and Randy were punching the shit out of each other yesterday. And you’re going to tell me that he didn’t get your brother to help him? Come on. That’s ridiculous and you know it.”
“According to McGrath, it would have taken a few guys to pull it off. Who’s to say Randy and his friends didn’t do it themselves to get EJ and Dan in trouble?” It was one of the stupidest things she’d ever said. She knew it. But she wasn’t going to let Ken Brady bully her.
“You’re an idiot. Evidence my ass. Look up the word ‘bias’ and come give me a call when you’ve got that figured out.”
“Get the hell out of my station. Go do something mayoral.”
“Jesse Flynn built that well with his own hands. If she scratches even one stone on that wall, so help me…” He let the threat fill the air as he glared at Elle, her eyes flaming, arms akimbo, seething. They faced off for several more seconds before Brady stomped out of the station.
When the door slammed and the sound of Brady’s shoes faded, Case turned to Elle. “Well, that was lovely. I’m sorry the rest of town didn’t get to witne
ss such a display of professionalism.”
“He’s being a prick and you know it. I’m sick of everyone assuming EJ is involved whenever anything goes wrong in this town. God.” She pushed her hand through her hair, dislodging most of it from her bun.
Case took her arm and turned her toward him. “In all seriousness, this is not the time to get Ken Brady’s back up. Keep your head down. And for Christ’s sake, don’t let him rile you up.” He left Elle to wonder what that meant.
Chapter Thirteen
The sound of a motorcycle reverberated down the main strip. Elle closed her eyes as the rumble filled the air.
There was something about motorcycles. She wasn’t sure if it was the smell of fuel or the sound they made as they sped past, but she’d always had a thing for them. She’d never actually owned one. She couldn’t justify it when she still had a perfectly good working truck.
She’d ridden dirt bikes when she was younger. Their neighbor had created a track in an old abandoned cornfield not far out of town. She’d gotten decent at the jumps before her father had found out and forbidden her to ride.
The rumble grew louder until it drowned out all other sound. And then it was gone. Elle opened her eyes, turning from the sight of Randy’s car to the owner of the Harley stopped at the base of the monument.
Kate Wells shut the engine off and removed her helmet, revealing short-cropped black hair. Kate exuded a certain aesthetic with her hair and leather. Despite Ken’s derogatory moniker, Elle didn’t think Kate was your quintessential lesbian. She looked more like a cute pixie and had a graceful nature to her that belied the clunky biker boots and leather.
Kate mounted the stairs, her full attention on the car behind Elle. She whistled loudly. “Well, shit. When you called me out here, I thought McGrath was busy and you needed a flat fixed on one of the cruisers or something. This”—she waved her arm at the red Mustang—“this has made my day.” When she smiled, she did so with her whole face. Her eyes crinkled, her cheekbones rose, and her mouth and teeth took over the lower half of her face. “The kids are so much more inventive than when we were kids, huh? Back then, they just beat the shit out of each other. This is a whole new level of deviousness.”
Despite the situation, Elle couldn’t help but laugh. “Unfortunately, this bit of inventiveness is going to cost the town a lot of money if we can’t get the car off without destroying the well underneath.”
Kate bent down to examine the underside of the car, much like McGrath had earlier, only the view now was better.
Elle crouched down as well. “Can you get it off?”
Kate pulled out her phone and turned on her flashlight. She poked around for a few more minutes before coming out. “Yeah. I’ve got a friend who owns a great big winch. Owes me a favor. I’ll get him to come out this afternoon and we’ll just lift the thing off.”
Elle’s shoulders relaxed. She hadn’t gotten a morning jog in and the tension around her shoulders had worsened.
Kate squirmed back out and looked over at Elle. Her deep blue eyes were wide and serious. Elle knew what was coming. “I was sorry to hear about Jessie. It’s horrible what happened.”
Elle stood, hoping to get the unpleasant conversation over with as soon as possible. “It was.” She looked at her hands, not able to meet Kate’s eyes.
“How are you holding up?” Kate reached out to touch her arm in comfort, but Elle moved out of the way, looking around to see who was watching. Then she cringed at her own cowardice and prejudice. Kate was only trying to be nice. But Kate just shrugged it off.
“I’m fine. We hadn’t seen each other in years. We lost touch a long time ago.”
Kate nodded at the unspoken need to end the conversation and walked down the steps toward her bike.
“I know we don’t run in the same circles, not that we ever did, really. But if you ever need anyone to talk to, you can call me.” Kate straddled her bike and lifted her helmet, moving the straps aside. “Although, from what I hear, you don’t really run in anyone’s circle.” She winked and placed the helmet on her head.
She revved the engine and took off down the strip, raising her hand as she left.
Caught up in the sound and rush, Elle stood for a few more moments wondering if she’d ever take Kate up on her offer.
* * *
Neil gulped the last of his pint in three heavy swallows. He belched proudly, slamming the glass on the counter when finished. He grabbed a handful of unshelled peanuts from a bowl beside him. Husks littered the counter and floor three feet in each direction of his stool. Shucking the outer hull, he caught the nut between his teeth before crunching down.
Finnegan’s was quickly building momentum as Saturday afternoon transformed into Saturday evening. Toby always marveled at the change in mood and how fast it could shift from a mewling kitten into a ferocious panther. It was as if time slowed; one slip, one nudge, and it was enough to bring the claws out. Toby watched Neil shove his empty glass toward the front of the counter, indicating he wanted another. His eyes were half focused on the highlights from the Cubs game earlier in the day. They’d lost three to four.
Toby eased himself off the back counter, took a fresh pint glass from below, and began pouring Neil a Schlitz from the tap. He nodded toward the television. “You get a chance to see the game?”
Neil snorted, shaking his head. “Nah. Spent most of my afternoon babysitting Kate as she hoisted the Pritchard kid’s Mustang off that damn well.”
Toby smiled. His eyes puckered under great bushy eyebrows. “Heard about that. Didn’t get to see it, though. They’d already finished the thing before I came in to open.” He finished his pour, tipping the excess head into the tray before passing it to Neil. “Heard Brady had a good brawl with the sheriff. She get her knickers in a knot over that?”
Neil shuffled peanut shells into a pile with cupped hands. Behind him, someone roared as the eight ball sailed into the corner pocket on the only operational pool table in the establishment. He shrugged. “Brady’s an asshole, he’d get anybody to spit fire.”
“You could fry bacon on that temper of hers, though.” Toby nodded to an older couple who walked in and took a seat by the large bay window in the front. “Wouldn’t want to come toe to toe with that.” His crow’s-feet deepened. “Unless of course, they were horizontal at the time.” He chuckled and slapped the bar with an old rag.
Neil grabbed his pint glass and took a large swig. He wiped his mouth clean and swiveled on his stool to watch as another game of pool was racked. A cloud shifted outside, spilling light through the grimy windows of the pub. A streak hit Neil’s glass, sending golden shards onto the ground next to him. He sighed.
People didn’t get it. This was what he wanted. The chance to drink his dinner every Saturday night when Tully was out getting liquored up with the girls from the beauty parlor in Mason. He liked set hours. In every morning by nine, done by five and a day off every six. His entire life he’d been told what to do. First by his mother, then by Sheriff Bailey, and now Tully. He didn’t mind. In fact, it felt comfortable, like pulling on his wool sweater when he went fishing in the mornings and the sun hadn’t yet dried the dew.
Everyone thought he had this big grudge against Elle for winning. He’d only run because Tully made him.
The day of the election he’d been so nervous he’d almost hit the fence pulling out of his own drive. Everyone mistook it for jittery anticipation, but the truth was he was so goddamned worried he’d win. Jesus, the last thing he wanted was Elle’s life: an endless pile of paperwork and bullshit from every direction. Hell, she spent more nights than not at the station curled up on that cramped couch of hers. Elle had won that election because she deserved it. She was the right person for the job. He just hoped she didn’t end up like old Bailey, cranky and alone.
Neil swiveled back to the bar for a refill of nuts. As he did, he noticed Robin Oakes watching him from two barstools down. She had a plate with a half-eaten corned beef on rye sitting in
front of her and a fresh glass of wine in her hand. A notepad pushed off to the side was half-filled with black scribble. She looked more at home in jeans and a men’s shirt tucked in the front than she had earlier in her suit.
“Buy you another?” Robin nodded toward Neil’s pint glass, still gripped in his hand.
“Got one, thanks.” But when Neil put the glass to his lips, he realized he’d drained it. He placed it on the bar and pushed it to the edge.
Leaving her soggy corned beef behind, Robin and her wine slid closer by one stool. Neil ignored the journalist’s overt attempt to ingratiate herself, choosing to focus on Toby as he poured another Schlitz.
They sat in silence, absorbing the atmosphere of Finnegan’s. Years of spilled beer, cigarette ash, and dropped food had turned the carpet a dull charcoal. The smell itself was a combination of stale beer, grease, and cigarettes. Even though it had been years since you could smoke in Finnegan’s, the memory lingered in the furnishings, seeping out of the wood and cushions.
“Care for a game?” Robin pointed to the now empty pool table across the bar. “I haven’t played since college, but I’m willing to bet I’d still kick your ass.”
Surprised, Neil twirled to face Robin. “You want to play a game of pool?”
“I have to find some way to work off the bucket of grease I just ate.” Robin patted her trim stomach and cast a meaningful look at the plate of food sitting next to her notepad.
Neil snorted. As if that were answer enough. He hopped off his stool and ambled to the pool table to begin racking the balls.
The first two games Neil won easily, sinking the eight ball before Robin even had a chance to clear half her balls off the table. Robin kept the conversation light. They talked about the food at the diner, Sandy Collard’s obsession with her garden, the horrible state of the pool table and cues. On the third game, Neil peered up from the length of the cue as he poised to sink the eleven in the side pocket and grinned. “Maybe I should go to Chicago sometime, if you were considered good, that is. I’d make myself a killing.”