Darkness the Color of Snow (10 page)

The boys sat at opposite sides of Pete's and John's desks and began writing. Gordy collected the signed statements. “Be at the park at nine Saturday morning. We'll get started then. You're free to go. Get your belongings from Sergeant Mancuso as you leave.”

The boys shuffled out of the building, their fathers behind them. Karl Forbert turned around and came back and shook Gordy's hand. “Thank you,” he said. “You didn't have to do that. I really appreciate it. Ronny's a good boy, but he doesn't have a mother, and I work as much as I can.”

Gordy said, “I think this is the best thing.” He looked beyond Karl to where the Forbert kid stood, still on the steps of the police station. He watched as Matt Laferiere turned back, climbed two steps, and shoved Forbert's shoulder. “You pussy. You folded. He didn't have anything on us. We would have walked on this. You're shit.”

Ronny Forbert stared straight ahead.

T
WO WEEKS LATER
it had started to snow heavily in the mid­afternoon, and Gordy had left for home early to stock the house with wood and water in case they lost power. The roads were still passable, even in a high-­mileage Crown Victoria. He wished he had taken the Explorer, but they would need it tonight. There were always a ­couple of cars that had to be pulled out of a snowbank on snowy nights. Or kids, or old folks who wandered off in the snow. Gordy swung by the park to see what progress had been made. No one was there, but he could see they were breaking up the old concrete pad on which the gazebo had rested. There were piles of broken concrete, one still holding the remains of a burned six-­by-­eight post that had made one of the corners.

It pleased him to think of the boys out there with sledgehammers and iron bars in the afternoon, just a little snow coming down as they hammered the concrete until it cracked, then wedged the pieces out with long iron bars. This was work, but real, honest work. He smiled to think of them going home, sore in the back and shoulders, their hands red and starting to blister.

He got back into his cruiser and headed down Wolf Den Road toward home, looking forward to getting a good fire going in the woodstove and taking the rest of the day to watch the gathering snow with Bonita until it got deep enough that he wouldn't be able to get out until DPW came and plowed him out.

He saw the boy trudging down the road, hood up, hands stuffed in his pockets. He pulled up to him and stopped. It was Ronny Forbert. He rolled the window down. “Need a ride?”

The boy stopped and looked at him, shook his head, and said, “No. I'm OK.”

“Yes. You need a ride. It's starting to really come down now.”

The boy looked again, as if he was calculating which was worse, walking down a dirt road in a snowstorm or riding next to a cop. Finally, he turned and came around in front of the car. Gordy leaned over and opened the door for him. “It's going to be a big one. No sense walking when you can ride.”

Forbert climbed in. “Guess not. Thanks.”

“Seat belt,” Gordy said, and Forbert reached behind him for the belt, pulled it across himself, and buckled it. “Your friends just leave you?”

“They were going the other way.”

“Could have given you a ride, though.”

Forbert just shrugged.

“Not too happy with you, are they?”

“Guess not.”

“You did the right thing. It's a tough thing, I know. But Lafe­riere was wrong. You were right. You guys weren't going to make out well by going to court. Chances are you would have ended up in juvie for a few months. Or worse. Doubling down on a weak hand is a bad bet. Always.”

“I don't want to go to jail.”

“No, it's not a nice place. A lot of times the tough guys figure they're going to do all right. They figure they'll be the toughest guys there, but there's always a few guys tougher than you are. Jail is miserable.” He looked over at Forbert, who still had his hands in his pockets, leaning forward, trying to hold the heat in.

Gordy reached over and pushed the heater control up all the way. “That's not a lot of clothes for a snowstorm.”

“It was OK this morning. Kind of warm.”

“Then the snow comes.”

“Yeah.”

“It was brave, too. What you did. You stood up to Laferiere. I know he's the leader of your little group. It's tough to take a stand that challenges the leader, even when he's clearly wrong. I admired that.”

“They think I'm a pussy.”

“They're wrong. You're the strong one, and in a minute or so you'll be the warm one, too.”

“Thanks for picking me up.”

“Hated to see you walking through the snow. You got a coat?”

“At home. It's kind of small and beat up. I don't like to wear it to school. Mostly, the hoodie is OK.”

“So, where are you in school?”

“Junior. Another year to go.”

“You going to graduate?”

“Yeah. I'll graduate.”

“Good. Not a great time to be looking for work.”

“I know. I'm looking for a job, like you said.”

“Any luck?”

“Not really. I'll do some shoveling and stuff. If this keeps up, there won't be any school tomorrow. I can shovel half a dozen driveways or so. It'll be a ­couple hundred bucks. Lots of ­people have snowblowers, though. Not as much work as there was a ­couple of years ago. I have some neighbors who are old. Retired. I can't charge them as much as I need to, but I can earn some.”

“Tell you what. If there's no school tomorrow, call me. I'll put you to work at the station and at my house. I've got a snowblower, but I would rather have you push it than me. And I already have a job.”

“That would be cool.”

“Just call the station when you've got your neighbors dug out. I'll come out and pick you up. You going on to college?”

“I don't think so. Maybe the junior college. I have to get a car, though. I can't keep on borrowing my dad's truck.”

“And what would you major in in college?”

“I don't know. Maybe I'll join the army.”

“I was in the army, right out of high school. Couldn't figure out what to do. I ended up an MP. That's how I became a cop.”

“They teach you stuff in the army. Computers, mechanics, engineering. Stuff like that.”

“Lots of places teach you stuff. I believe colleges are pretty good at it.”

“Yeah. I could do that. I don't know. I'm getting kind of tired of school.”

“I know. You get tired of it. Then, later, you wonder why. I think going to college is the way to go.”

“You in Vietnam?”

“I was there. One tour in Phu Bai.”

“You kill anyone?”

“Not there. Mostly I did a lot of guard duty. Broke up a lot of fights, threw drunks in the stockade.”

“It must be hard to actually kill someone.”

“Harder than you can imagine.”

“Who'd you kill?”

“I don't know. I guess I don't even know if I killed him. I was stationed at Fort Bliss, outside of El Paso. MP. I was guarding some trucks heading west and stopping at Bliss for the night. Secret stuff. New weapons systems, I think. In the middle of the night I saw this guy rummaging around in the secure area. I yelled for him to stop, but he picked up something and made a run for it. I fired one warning shot that made him start running in a zigzag. The next shot, I hit him. He went down hard, but then he got up and went on.

“We searched for his body the next day. We found more blood, but we never found him. Maybe he made it back into Mexico. Maybe he drowned in the Rio Grande. Maybe he lived. Maybe not. I'll never know. But I'll never forget it, either. It'll catch me at odd times, and I'll think about it, wondering if I killed him or not. I hope not, but I can't shake the fear that I did. The worst thing that ever happened to me. And that's just one of the things that can happen in the army.”

“A lot of the guys want to join up and go over and kill hajis.”

“I know that. A lot of them get their wish. The lucky ones don't.”

“You went.”

“I bought the big lie. There's always a big lie. This one is ‘They're trying to take our freedom.' ”

“That's a lie?”

“A big one. Don't die for it. Don't kill someone for it.”

“It's just down here.” Forbert pointed down the road. “To the right.”

“Here?”

“Next mailbox.”

The driveway was long, winding back into the woods. “You shovel this driveway?”

“Yeah. It takes a while.”

They pulled up to the house. It was a sixties ranch-­style, with snow building up on the roof and around the edges. Gordy could see it had once been yellow, but now was mostly gray where the paint had peeled off and the wood had weathered. It looked like it had never been a great house, but once was a lot nicer than it was now. It was like a lot of houses in Lydell, neglected for lack of time, money, and the inclination to keep it up. Twenty years ago, houses were better kept, but that was a time before everyone had two jobs just to afford the things they needed, or thought they needed.

“Well, if you shovel this out, no one can say you're afraid of hard work. This is a job.”

“We've got a snowblower, but it's old. It works sometimes, but a heavy snow will stop it dead. It's almost easier just to shovel it.”

“Well, you call me tomorrow. I'll find you some work. It'll be easier than this, and we'll pay you for it.”

G
ORDY PICKED
R
ONNY
up in the late morning. The Forberts' driveway was clear and easy. “Looks like you put in a full day already.”

“It wasn't so bad. Seven inches, pretty light and fluffy. I got the snowblower working. It wasn't too bad.”

“You had lunch yet?”

“No. But I'm OK.”

“I'm not. Let's get lunch.” Gordy backed the cruiser down the long drive again. He looked over at Ronny, who wore an old canvas coat over his hoodie. “Reach behind the seat there. I brought you something.”

“This?” Ronny held up a navy-­blue nylon quilted police jacket with a fur collar.

“That. It's warm. I grew out of it a ­couple of years ago. I quit smoking and put on some pounds. Can't even zip that one up, now. It's yours. You got gloves?”

Ronny pulled out a pair of soaked leather work gloves that looked really worn.

“There's some dry ones in the trunk. You can use those.”

At Edna's on Route 23, Ronny ordered a burger and fries, Gordy a chef's salad. “You still trying to diet, Gordy?” Diane the waitress asked.

Gordy patted his belly. “Still working on it. Still working.”

“I can put you on the no-­pancake list. The no-­ice-­cream list, too.”

“Oh, no. Don't do that. You've got to attend to your pleasures. I'll just use willpower.”

“You got some?”

“More than you can imagine, Diane.”

When she had gone back to the kitchen, Gordy said, “She gets on me about lack of willpower. But I've quit smoking, and I've quit drinking. I have lots of willpower. And I'll get away from the sugar, too. One of these days.”

“Good morning, Gordon.” Martin Glendenning stood at the side of their booth. “Fighting crime?”

“Calories, mostly.”

“Have you heard? I'm going to run for the town council in the special election next month. Be your boss one of these days.”

“I heard. Good to get it from the horse's mouth, though. Think you can win? This here is Ronald Forbert. He's going to be doing a little work around the station.”

Martin looked at Ronny and nodded. He reached down and fingered the shoulder of Ronny's new jacket. “Are you a new member of the police force, Ronald?”

“Chief Hawkins gave it to me,” Ronny said.

“Well, wear it in good health. Chief Hawkins is a good and generous man. He's been our chief for a long time. Do what he says. He'll keep you on the straight and narrow. Won't be able to play with matches if you're a member of the Lydell Police.

“To answer your question, Gordon, I can win, and I will win,” Martin said. “We have to make some changes in Lydell. I think I'm the man to do that.”

“What sort of changes you thinking about? Am I going to still have a job?”

“Nothing is going to be off the table, Gordon. I have to be honest about that. Nothing. We're getting killed with taxes here. Lydell's going down fast. I think everyone knows that. We're going to have to look at some big changes just to keep the town alive.”

“Would that include doing away with the police department?”

Gordy knew that Martin wanted to disband the police department and turn protection over to the state police. And a lot of others did, too. There were opposing sides—­those who wanted to keep the town going and those who were content to let it die. Those were mainly the old rural stock whose parents let the school system go and be merged into Warrentown. And then the fire department, which they defunded until it became all volunteer. And now they were after the police department, which they considered an expensive nuisance. Martin saw it as a danger to his enterprises.

“Oh, I don't know, Gordon. If we didn't have a police department, the state police could patrol the town. It would save a lot of money. But it's just a thought.”

Diane reappeared with their orders.

“Good morning, beautiful. How's your day going?” Martin asked.

“One minute it's great, and the next it goes right into the dumper,” Diane said with obvious distaste.

“Way of the world, gorgeous. Way of the world.”

“You fellows need anything more here? All right on your Coke there?” she asked Ronny. When Ronny nodded, she turned, a sharp pivot, and headed back to the kitchen.

“She don't like me much,” Martin said.

“Would have been my guess,” Gordy said.