Resolution: Evan Warner Book 1 (6 page)

10

About fifteen minutes east of Saulsbury I entered the small city of Franklin. It’s an old mill town of about eight thousand residents that’s gone slowly but steadily downhill for the past fifty years. East of Franklin is the nicer town of Trenton. A town that’s grown up around cheap gas stations beside the highway and tax free outlet malls. In Trenton there’s also a Walmart. That’s where I ended up after dinner.

But I wasn’t there to shop. I was there to check the big bulletin board in the entryway.

The parking lot was jammed. The sun was sinking low over the horizon, the sky was turning colors, and the lot was darkening. Many of the vehicles had out-of-state plates. In the back corner of the lot there were motor homes parked in oversized spots. Holiday weekends. People everywhere. Like ants scurrying around a rotting tree.

I found a spot near the automotive side of the building and parked. Told Frank I’d just be a minute and walked around the front of the building to the main entrance. Lucy’s flyer was still there, on the wall above the row of shopping carts. She was surrounded by several other missing children, deadbeat dads, and quite a few wanted persons. There was even a missing dog. A boxer named Simon. Someone was willing to pay four grand to get him back.

For a long minute I just stood there staring at Lucy’s picture. People were walking behind me on their way in and out of the store. Most of them were talking loud over the noise of shopping carts rattling and clanking. But I was able to block everything out and just focus on Lucy.

I got out my phone and took a picture of the flyer. That way I wouldn’t have to return to Trenton the next time I wanted to see it. There was no telling how much longer it would be there.

Then I entered the store and walked around for maybe fifteen minutes, trying to remember if there was anything I needed. Nothing jumped out at me. So I made my way back to the exit.

I stopped in front of Lucy’s flyer again. It felt like an involuntary act. For a minute or two I stood there staring all over again. Everything else went away. It occurred to me that if Laney had been with me, she would have said something like, “You’re doing that weird staring thing again.” Or, “Earth to Evan!” Whenever I’m really focused on something, she gets freaked out by my thousand-mile stare.

Then someone stepped up beside me. I looked to my right and saw a girl. Or a young woman. Whatever. I’ve never been sure of the cutoff line. She was about average height. Maybe five six at most. Slender and young-looking. Athletic. Not a bad looking girl. Not bad at all. Maybe early twenties at most. Maybe a college girl. She was wearing black leggings and a fitted tee that came down just below her hips. Her hair was a layered mix of platinum blonde and raven black. An intensive dye job. Like she wanted to stand out a little without taking it to the extreme. I couldn’t tell at a glance if she was wearing light makeup or if she just had nice features.

She went up to the bulletin board. Took down the missing dog flyer. Replaced it with a new one. She took a step back and stared at it for a moment. Then she looked over at me.

“You’re a dog person,” she said. Not a question.

“Am I?”

“You’ve got dog hair on your shirt.”

I looked down at myself. My right shoulder had Frank’s Chewbacca hair on it. I didn’t bother to brush it off. No point.

“What kind of dog?” she asked.

“Leonberger.”

“Oh.”

“Ever heard of it?”

“No.”

“He’s a big furry beast. Sort of like a St. Bernard. Darker face, slightly longer snout. Lots of brown hair and less drool.”

“Less drool is always good.”

“You know it.”

She nodded firmly, like we had just settled a great issue. Then we were quiet a moment.

“Were you looking at my Simon’s flyer?”

“I saw him there, yeah.”

“Isn’t he adorable? All goofy and droopy-faced.”

I said, “Sorry you lost him.”

“Oh, I didn’t lose him. Someone stole him right out of my car.”

I turned her way. We made eye contact.

“You’re kidding.”

She shook her head. “Nope. It’s my bad for leaving the car unlocked. But still, they just took him. Can you believe that crap?”

I didn’t answer. I believed it, all right. Just didn’t like hearing it.

“But,” she resumed, “I’ll get him back. I just raised the reward again. Five grand, no questions asked. I just keep telling myself that it’ll work. Sooner or later he’ll be back home where he belongs.”

“When did this happen?”

“Two weeks ago Friday night. Two
miserable
weeks.”

“Sorry,” I said. And I genuinely meant it. I’d be inconsolable if something happened to Frank. Then I’d do terrible things. Maybe burn whole cities to find out who took him. And when I did find them, I’d make them very, very sorry. Years later, psychology students would read all about me and struggle to fathom the depths of my wrath. Generals would marvel at the destruction unleashed by a lone man. They’d study me right after Alexander of Macedon.

“It just takes money,” the girl said next. “You know, that’s what everything’s about.”

I didn’t respond to that. My guess was that she was using a positive attitude to keep from falling into despair. The new flyer she’d posted had $5000.00 scrolled in bold font below Simon’s picture. No questions asked. Even if she was kidding herself about finding him, she wasn’t kidding around with the reward. Plenty of people work for a month for less than five grand.

“Bastards,” she snapped under her breath, and her voice sort of shook. She wiped her eye with the back of her hand. Then took a deep breath and gathered her composure.

“Hang in there,” I said. Didn’t know what else to say.

“It makes me so mad, you know? How could someone steal a dog like that? How much is he really worth?”

I looked at her and wondered what else I was missing. It certainly wasn’t a standard lost dog scenario.

“I know who has him,” she said quietly, as if sharing a big secret. “Like, almost a hundred percent certain.”

“Seriously?”

She nodded vigorously. Her face brightened. She seemed energized.

“You know who took your dog, and you’re here hanging up flyers?”

She kept on nodding.

“How do you know?”

“Everyone knows who steals dogs around here.”

“I don’t.”

She paused a beat. “You’re really interested?”

“I’m still here.”

She made a face, like a lightbulb had just flicked on in her head.

“Let’s go outside where it’s quieter. I’ll fill you in, if you really want to know.”

“Why not,” I said.

We started out the big sliding doors. She was walking fast. Fast enough that I had to pick up my pace to keep stride with her. I could sense the tension in her. Tension and energy. Nerves and frustration and optimism, all jumbled together.

“Where are you parked?” she asked.

“Way over by the auto entrance.”

She didn’t break stride.

“I’m not going over there where there’s no people around. No offense. You seem nice. But I’m not ending up in someone’s basement freezer.”

I said, “How do I know
I
won’t end up in
your
freezer?”

She laughed. “How on earth could I carry you there?”

“Maybe you’ve got help waiting.”

“Nah, it’s just me. And at home it’s just my dad. And we don’t even have a basement freezer, to be honest.”

I didn’t follow up on the statement regarding her dad. Wasn’t my business.

We hadn’t gone far when she slowed down near the back of a little red car. A Nissan Z. Maybe a year or two old. There was a heart-shaped sticker in the back window with
MY DOG
within the heart.

“See any help in there?” she asked.

I shook my head. Got out my smokes. Her eyes went right to them.

“Want one?”

“I try to stay away from bad habits.”

“They’re definitely bad,” I said as I shook one loose.

“You know, at this point, I don’t even care.”

“Your call.”

She took one and her eyes came up to mine. I figured she was going to ask for a light, but instead she asked, “Are you wearing kitchen gloves?”

I didn’t answer. Just flicked my Zippo and lit my cigarette. Then held the flame out for her.

She lit her cigarette and asked, “Are you OCD?”

“I’m Evan.”

“I’m Kendra.”

I closed my lighter and slid it back in my pocket.

“Well?” she asked.

“Kendra, by any chance have you seen the movie
What About Bob?
?”

“Oh, no.”

“It’s great for a laugh. You should watch it.”

“I have seen it. Way too many times. My dad loves that movie. Laughs like a crazy person every time.”

“Well, then, you’ll know what I mean when I say I don’t want to end up being a total wreck, like Bob. Germs are in fact real, and I really prefer avoiding them.”

Her face was blank. She had no clue what to think of me.

“Ever heard of Ebola?” I said. “Or all the weird strains of flu floating around?”

“How many people actually catch those?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not taking any chances. The gloves are an easy barrier and cheap peace of mind. So even if it looks funny, if you think about it, it’s actually a very sane choice for me to wear them.”

“Do you wear them at home?”

“No need. Everything’s clean.”

“But you just touched your lighter with the gloves. How do you deal with that?”

“I’ve got a whole system worked out. Trust me.”

“So public bathrooms must be way out of the question.”

“Won’t go within ten feet of one.”

“Guess I can’t blame you there.”

I nodded firmly.

She shook her head, smiling thinly, and said nothing. She leaned against the back of her car. Looked away and took a long breath. Her shoulders rose way up. Then fell way down again. The brief moment of levity had passed as quickly as it had come.

I said, “Who took Simon?”

“Two guys from Franklin, I’m pretty sure.”

“I need more than that.”

She looked at me. “You’re seriously interested?”

I nodded.

“I’m not being conceited here, but I’m not looking to get together with anyone.”

“You suggesting I’m some sort of whore? Think I just give all this away for free?”

She rolled her eyes.

“I’m interested,” I said, seriously.

“Okay,” she said. “That’s cool. I’m just kind of surprised, that’s all. Most people are sympathetic about Simon and say they’re sorry. But that’s where it ends.”

“Like you said, I’m a dog person.”

She nodded and asked, “Ever been to Neil’s Lounge?”

I hadn’t. I’d driven past it plenty but never stopped by.

“It’s nice,” she said. “Not a dive bar or anything.”

“I don’t really drink.”

“We have good food too. Nice clean kitchen.” She smiled briefly. “Everyone washes their hands and wears gloves in the kitchen.”

“That’s where you work?”

“I tend bar mostly. Wait a few tables. Been there about three years now. You know how people talk when they get to drinking, right?”

“Talk. Argue. Scream. Fight. Raise hell.”

She shook her head.

“Start riots at sporting events.”

“Not at Neil’s. It’s a mellow atmosphere. Our customers are cool. And if they’re not, they get tossed. That’s it. Neil doesn’t put up with any nonsense.”

I nodded. Neil sounded like a sensible guy.

“We have a lot of regulars,” Kendra resumed. “Well, there’s one guy, Tim. You know, T&G Plumbing?”

I didn’t know. She didn’t yet realize that I was basically a hermit.

“Tim and Gordon are best friends,” she explained. “Have been forever, I guess. Been working together for years. You’ll see their big box van around.”

“Haven’t noticed,” I said. “I don’t get out much.”

“Anyway, Tim’s a cool guy. Loves to talk. He’s one of those guys that knows practically everyone. Well, once I started asking around, a few different people told me who might’ve taken Simon. But I really believed it when I heard it from Tim.”

“How does he know for sure?”

“He grew up in Franklin. And he’s heard of several people keeping fighting dogs in the area. The guys in Franklin are the most obvious. They’re always looking for new dogs to trade and sell. Some to use for bait in practice fights.”

“So that shit actually goes on around here?”