Punishment (32 page)

Birch was curled up on the passenger side. “Gotta stop thinking like this, Birch.” He yawned. “Wise dog,” I said. “Just ignore me.” We were nearing Caddy’s driveway so I turned in. But there was a black car parked there—Neil’s Lexus with the American flag decal on the back window, and the taunting blue Bush-Cheney bumper sticker. I retreated.

The store was silent when I walked in, the dog behind me. Mary came around, bent down, held out her hand. Birch quickly gobbled something, sat, tail twitching.

“What did you give him?” I asked.

“That’s between him and me.” The dog was staring at her, head tilted, pleading silently. “One’s all you’re getting,” she told him. “You come visit if you want more.” She stood and went back behind the counter, leaned down and came up with a stack of newspapers. “You don’t have to feel obliged,” she said.

“No,” I said. “I’ve got a bit of catching up to do.”

“So what did you make of all that?” a male voice said.

I turned and John Robert was behind me sipping on a cup of coffee.

“All what?” I said, scanning headlines.

“Strickland. You won’t find a word in the fuckin paper about that.” He sounded angry. “He was in here earlier, big as life.
Buying milk. Ignoring everybody. You’d think he was home from Harvard.”

“Give him a chance,” said Mary.

“Right,” said John Robert. “I’ll give him a fuckin chance.”

Then the door opened and Neil walked in, stamping his feet.

I braced myself for his daily proclamation but Neil just nodded around and walked to the back of the store, then returned with a bag of milk and set it down.

“What’s new with you, Neil?” someone asked.

Neil nodded at me. “What’s new? You’re asking the wrong guy. Ask the fella with all the newspapers. What’s the latest, Tony?”

“All quiet, Neil. Even Cheney is keeping his head down.”

“Yah,” said Neil. “But don’t let that fool ya.”

“So what did you make about Strickland getting off?” John Robert asked him.

“Ah well,” said Neil. “It didn’t really come as a surprise to me.”

“He was in here before, big as life, buying stuff.”

“So he’s got a car now, has he?”

“I gave him a ride over,” said Mary. “I saw him walking so I stopped.”

“Proper thing,” said Neil. “That’s what makes this place the way it is. Real civil. Right, Tony? It’s why me and Tony are back here, refugees from places where civility just gets you ripped off.”

“Nothing civil about Strickland,” John Robert said. “Mary says he’s figuring on staying on at the old place indefinitely, like nothing happened. I can’t imagine it, after that poor girl dying on his couch.”

“Ah now,” said Neil. “The system spoke.”

“You’ve sure changed your tune about the system,” said Mary.

“It’s all we’ve got, my love,” said Neil, clutching the bag of milk. “And at the end of the day, the system is us. I was just in talking to Caddy. Now if there’s anybody with a right to be upset. But Caddy’s real resigned. She says we need to put the past behind us. Go forward, she says. And that’s good enough for me.”

He turned to leave but said to me, “Can I see you outside for a sec.” I followed him reluctantly.

“About Caddy. Amazing woman, that,” Neil said. “You should call in. She’s always been fond of you. Still is. I could tell when your name came up. I’m not suggesting anything … just a friendly visit.” He winked.

It was the wink, I suppose, that silenced me, the presumption of a common cause. I nodded and went back inside to silence, people watching me, waiting.

“Let’s go home, Birch,” I said.

She still wasn’t answering her phone but when I’d drive by her place her car was there, seemingly unmoved. I even passed by one evening just to see if there were lights on and there was a glow somewhere deep inside the house. After a week I reached a reluctant decision.

“Time for you to go home, Birch.” I’m not sure what he understood but he wagged his tail enthusiastically and headed for the door immediately. There wasn’t much to bring—his coat, his dish, the leash. “You’re an example for all of us, my friend. Admirably modest in your possessions.”

I left him in the truck until I was sure that Caddy was home, which was prudent because the day was cold and I spent a long time rapping on the sliding glass door. It was about ten in the morning and I knew she had always been an early riser. And yet the quiet kitchen had the dim tidiness of dawn. There was one teacup on the table near where she usually sat, where I’d surprised her on that sunny autumn day that now felt like such a long, long time ago.

Then she shuffled into the kitchen. She was wearing a man’s dressing gown and sheepskin slippers. Her hair was dishevelled from her bed. She waved briefly then paused to tie the belt. “Come in,” she said. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

She seemed so pale and frail that I momentarily forgot why I was there. Her voice was heavy with sleep or grief or illness. “Come,” she said. “Sit. I’ll put the kettle on.” I studied her back as she filled the kettle at the sink. I knew she was delaying contact, composing her emotions. Then she moved slowly to the stove, turned on a burner and stood there as if lost in thought.

“I’m a bit of a wreck,” she said finally, without turning. “I haven’t spoken to a soul in days.”

“Neil told me … he was here,” I said.

“Ah, yes. Neil,” and she coughed and blew her nose into a tissue she’d been holding in her hand. “Who’d have thought … Neil a nursemaid.”

“He was worried about you,” I said.

“I suppose he was.” The kettle started hissing. “I suppose he’s around, big as life,” she said. “Strickland, I mean. Not Neil.” She attempted a dry chuckle. “Bigger than life, that fellow is.”

“Strickland seems to be keeping a low profile,” I said.

“Ah well,” she said. “You’ve got your own issues with him. I guess we’ll all have to just get used to having him around reminding us.” Now the kettle squealed and steam rose. She filled the teapot.

We spent a lot of time examining our cups.

“Young Angus John,” she said. “I didn’t expect it. She was so … 
there
. In what he was saying. She cried, he said.”

She tilted the teacup, swirled the contents.

“I knew she was terribly sad, after Jack. But I never saw her cry. Why, do you think?”

“She was trying to be strong, for you,” I said.

“I hope that was the reason.” Swirled the cup again.

“I used to be able to read the tea leaves,” she said. “That’s the trouble with tea bags. They hide the future, don’t they? But maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.”

“Have you thought of maybe going away for a spell?” I said.

“Well, weren’t you threatening to take me on a trip?” She smiled at me for the first time.

“Well …”

“I’m teasing you,” she said. “It’s a good thing it’s kind of dark in here. I can imagine what I look like.”

And then I remembered the dog. “I brought your dog back …”

“No,” she said, mouth tight, eyes widening. “No, I can’t have him around. Not yet.”

“He’s fine with me. It’s just that I thought …”

“There are too many reminders already,” she said. “I’ve thought more than once that I’ll have to get rid of this place and everything in it. Move, start all over. And then I realize … 
it’s too late. It’s too late for starting anything. It’s all about finishing things now, isn’t it? We’ve had all our starts and this is where it’s got us. For better or for worse.”

“Caddy, that’s not necessarily …”

“I thought maybe if there was a trial, no matter how it turned out, we’d have a chance to work through all this, bit by bit. And I might understand things better at the end. But it’s …” She rubbed her forehead. “But it’s like … she just disappeared. I feel like one of those people you see on the news whose kid just vanishes and they’re still adrift years and years afterwards. And Strickland was the last one to see her. And we’ll never know what he knows.”

“Maybe he doesn’t—”

“I made up my mind to go to see him,” she said, interrupting me. “That’s what I was going to do. I still might. Just sit in front of him. And ask him to tell me.”

“I don’t know,” I said weakly.

“I probably don’t have the guts to do it anyway,” she said, staring off over my head. “Let me get you some more tea.”

“No,” I said. “I’d better go. Poor Birch will be freezing in the truck.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you dropped by. It might take a little while but … Where was it you said you went on that holiday? With all the gay people?”

“The Florida Keys,” I said. “Key West. You’d like it there. We’d just sit around drinking rum punch and watching the amazing sunsets, reading Hemingway.”

“I can’t stand rum,” she said. “You must remember, the night I got sick and threw up in the little red truck?”

“I thought that was lemon gin,” I said. “But anyway, we can get you something else.”

“I’ll be thinking about it,” she said. And smiled at me again.

There was palpable excitement the next time I went to the store. I could feel it even from the outside, the number of cars and trucks parked in the lot. I could hear voices from the doorstep. And when I stepped inside, everybody seemed to be talking. I went straight to the counter.

“What’s the buzz?” I asked Mary.

“You didn’t hear what happened? About the big raid at Strickland’s?”

“When?”

“Last night. Cops from three detachments. You’d think it was Saddam Hussein they were after. I could see all the lights through the trees so I snuck over to watch.”

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“Drugs,” she said. “Seems they found a stash.” She nodded toward the cluster of men around the coffee urn. “Just listen to them.”

Then I heard Neil’s voice. “Hey Tony, come over here, get a load of this.”

He had the inside story. Somewhere near midnight, five police cars raced up Strickland’s lane, broke a door as they rushed into his house, armed to the teeth. “I talked to one of them this morning.”

They’d been tipped off that there would be a significant drug delivery that night. Maybe the drug mule staying over. They
were expecting to find a Hells Angels member there, according to Neil. But their intelligence was flawed.

“There was no Hells Angel, only John Robert’s daughter, little Ashley. John Robert and the wife are devastated.”

“What happened to her?” I asked, nausea rising in my throat.

“It’s what’s
gonna
happen to her,” Neil said. “She claimed the stash they found belonged to her. Fifty Oxy 80s and a kilo of pot between them on the kitchen table. You imagine.”

“Well. Maybe …”

“She’s fifteen years old,” Neil exploded. “That fucker Strickland should be horse-whipped.”

“That’s the point, see,” said Lester quietly. “She’s underage so they can’t do much. Strickland’s claiming the girl arrived out of the blue with that stuff and your fella was giving her a little sermon about how dangerous it was, just having that stuff, never mind using it.”

“Where is she now?” I asked.

“They let her come home,” Lester said. “They’re figuring out whether or not to charge her. It’s complicated. Nobody believes it was her dope. You’d have to know her. She’s a little far out, like most of them. But a dope dealer? No friggin’ way.”

“Where the fuck would she get a load like that?” said Neil.

“Some son of a bitch planted it there is where she got it.” The voice was controlled but savage. We all turned to see Strickland standing just inside the open door. “And I’d put money on who did it.”

Neil moved toward him. “Do yourself a favour and get out of here before somebody throws you out.”

“Why don’t you try it, you big tub of shit,” Strickland said. I noticed he had one hand concealed inside his coat pocket. I moved between them.

“You should leave, Dwayne,” I said.

His smile was dangerous. “Right,” he said. “I’ll leave. But you haven’t seen the last of me, Tony. I never thought you’d sink that low.”

“You’re talking foolishness,” I said.

“Really? Who else around here would want to see me back inside but you … get me out of the way, right? Get me fucking killed if you have your way. All because of Anna, all because …”

I lashed out at him, fist only half-closed. He stumbled, crashed against the door frame, face contorted. My hand was on fire but I grabbed for him, months and months of anger and confusion, doubt and loneliness surging in one impulse to punish. And then I was struggling to escape the apelike embrace of Neil MacDonald, whose breath reeked of onions and tobacco and dental plaque. I kicked back hard, felt the contact with his shin, then felt myself lifted off my feet and hurled to the floor.

When my head cleared, Strickland was gone and Neil was panting over me: “You idiot, what did you fuckin kick me for?” Then he reached a hand down, to help me up.

“Christ, man,” he said. “We’re all on the same side here.”

My hand was scarlet and swollen, almost the size of Neil’s lethal ham-like fist, when I gingerly arranged the ice-packed towel on top of it. I knew the whole place would soon be buzzing with the news. It was depressing how they’d all assume
that I’d tried to strike a blow for them and their community and their values and that I was finally, unambiguously, one of them. How little they knew.

Neil called early the next morning to ask about my hand. I told him I thought I’d broken something. He thought it was funny. He’d told the wife what happened at the store and said Hannah was insisting that I come for supper some night that week. What about Sunday night?

I said I was uncertain.

“Better still,” he said. “Make it Monday night. It’ll be St. Paddy’s day. I always break the wagon for St. Pat. We’ll be able to have a few cocktails.” Laughing, he added, “I think Hanna has taken a shine to you. Says you’re a ‘fascinating man.’ I told her she doesn’t know the half of it.”

He rang off, still laughing.

I called impolitely late on Friday evening and after perhaps a Scotch too many. I was in a mood of uncommon cheerfulness.

“Neil,” I said. “I just realized I hadn’t given you a firm answer about dinner Monday evening. I’d love to accept Hanna’s kind invitation. What time and can I bring anything?”