Small Crimes (3 page)

He
shook his head. 'Ron Hardacher up the street let me keep the car in his garage.
It got too difficult moving your car and my car all the time. I drove it every
two weeks like I promised and got the oil changed every six months. Here, let
me get you the keys.'

He
went over to the desk in the kitchen and fumbled around in the top drawer until
he came up with a set of keys. I asked him if he could give me a key to the
house also.

'You
don't need one,' he said. 'You know we never lock the doors. Joey, it's not
that we don't want you staying with us, but this is only temporary, right?'

'Sure,
only until I find a job and get myself set up. Thanks for taking care of my car
and thanks for letting me stay here.'

The
coffee had finished brewing, and he poured me a cup. As he handed it to me he
looked like he wanted to ask me something. He hesitated for a long while, his
mouth forming a small round circle. Then he muttered something about feeling
tired. He turned from me and started toward his bedroom.

I
took the rest of my sandwich and the coffee to the phone. I ate the sandwich
slowly. After I was done, I gave Dan Pleasant a call. He wasn't in, but I left
a message and sat and waited for him to call back. I only had to wait five
minutes before the phone rang. I picked it up and heard Dan's voice.

'You
there, Joe?' he asked.

'Hello,
Dan.'

I
heard a soft laughing noise. 'How you doing, Joe?' he said. 'Christ, it's been
a long time.'

'It
didn't have to be. I'd been sitting in your jail for seven years. You could've
stopped by anytime.'

'I
didn't think that would be a smart thing to do. But we do need to talk. Why
don't you drive out to the Mills Farm Road out in Chesterville. I'll meet you
there in a half-hour.'

'I
don't know, Dan, I'd feel more comfortable if we talked somewhere more public.
How about Zeke's Tavern?'

There
was more soft laughing. 'That wouldn't be very smart, Joe. No, I don't think we
want publicity. I also don't think it would be very smart to show your face at
Zeke's. I'll meet you out in Chesterville in a half-hour.' There was a click as
he hung up.

I
walked two doors over to Ron Hardacher's house and got my Mustang convertible
out of his garage. I knew Dan would prefer it if I were dead, but I wasn't
worried about meeting him on an isolated road in the country. If he thought he
could get away with killing me he would've done it years ago.

I
put the top down and headed toward Chesterville. As I got about five miles past
downtown Bradley, I could see that the strip malls and shopping centers had
expanded into what used to be open space. Eventually I got past them and all
the traffic lights. The road became quieter and more scenic, with rolling hills
and cows grazing lazily along them. It was a warmish fall day and I felt good
having the wind in my face. At times I'd open it up to a hundred before slowing
the car down. As I drove I felt a sense of peace that I hadn't felt in years.
It startled me to realize how long it had been since I'd felt that way.

I
turned onto Mills Farm Road and drove down the dirt road until I spotted Dan
leaning against his pickup truck. He looked pretty much the same as he did the
last time I saw him. A tall, lanky man with a large head and a big mop of
brownish hair. His last name, Pleasant, fit him well; he always seemed to have
a warm, pleasant smile on his face. I pulled up behind his truck and got out to
meet him.

His
eyes dulled for a second as he glanced at my Mustang convertible, and then his
warm, pleasant smile was back in place. Dan was never happy that I'd bought the
car. He always held a tight rein on his deputies, demanding they use the extra
money made as a retirement fund. No big-ticket purchases. No fancy cars, no
boats, nothing that would bring them any attention. The car was the only thing
I'd ever bought. All the other money I made I pissed away. Still, after all
these years, I could tell Dan still resented me for buying it.

He
took a step to meet me and gave me a warm handshake, then placed a hand on my
shoulder. 'It's good to see you, Joe,' he said. And if I didn't know him better
I would've sworn he meant it.

'How
you're still sheriff I'll never know,' I said.

He
laughed. 'I'll keep running as long as they keep voting for me. How long has it
been since you've had a beer?'

'I
think you know the answer to that.'

'It
was a rhetorical question, Joe. But I think I got a good solution.' He opened
the door to his truck and took a couple of bottles out of a cooler. He handed
me one of them.

'You're
looking good, Joe. Morris treat you okay?'

'No
complaints.'

'I
had to work my ass off to keep you there. Our DA friend fought like hell to
have you moved to a maximum-security prison.'

'I
know. He told me.'

'He
did, did he?' Dan showed a thin smile. 'Did he tell you he was using every
favor he had to get you shipped out of state to Danamora? It almost happened,
and I'll tell you, you wouldn't have had much fun there, my friend. I had to
pull a lot of strings to keep you in Bradley.'

"That
was the deal.'

Dan
laughed and shook his head. 'I went way beyond our deal for you. It cost me
quite a bit of coin to get you that early parole, especially after Coakley's
heartfelt victim's statement to the parole board. Shit, he even had me moved to
tears. Even with the greasing, I don't think you'd be out now if you hadn't
taken responsibility and pled guilty in the first place. That move worked out
for you in the long run, Joe.'

'That
wasn't why I did it.'

'Yeah,
I know. I always figured you didn't want to risk taking the stand. A smart
move. God knows what other business our DA friend would have dragged in.'

'That
wasn't my reason.'

Dan
waited for me to explain, but I wasn't going to. He wouldn't have understood
even if I had. It wasn't in his makeup to understand something as simple as
that I didn't feel making Phil go through a trial after what I did to him would
be right. It's funny, though, it seemed as if Phil resented my pleading guilty.
As if I'd robbed him of his day in court. If I had realized that at the time, I
would've given him his day and let Grayson argue his bullshit diminished
capacity case.

After
a while Dan realized I wasn't going to explain any further. He took a long
drink of his beer and started laughing. 'Still the same old Joe, huh?' he said,
his eyes crinkling pleasantly. 'I got presents for you anyways.'

He
took two envelopes from his inside jacket pocket and handed them to me. The
first one was stuffed with hundred dollar bills. I counted sixty-five hundred
dollars. The second envelope had some forms. As I was reading them Dan
explained they were for my pension.

'Just
sign and date them and it's all set,' he said.

'You're
kidding.'

'No
sir. It's all taken care of. For the record you're retiring after twenty years
on the force. You'll collect thirty-four sixty a month. Plus full medical and
dental.'

'How'd
you swing this?'

He
gave me a little smile. 'A piece of cake, Joe. And, after all, you did join the
force twenty years ago. If somebody forgot to check that you spent the last
seven years serving time for arson and attempted murder, hey, what the hell.

'Now,
Joe,' Dan went on, his eyes hardening a bit, 'as far as

I'm
concerned this makes us even. Me and my boys appreciated your keeping us out of
the matter, but you were damned stupid to leave that building with Coakley
still alive. It hasn't been the same since.'

'What
do you mean?'

Dan
finished his beer before answering me, a glint of spite in his eyes. 'There's
been more attention on us thanks to you. Times are a lot leaner now, a lot less
money to be made. Most weeks I'm just living off my salary. But the real
problem is Coakley. You changed him.'

Dan
flung his empty bottle into the grass meadow we were standing by and got
himself another beer. After he had a healthy swallow of it, he shook his head
sadly.

'Our
DA friend was always a straight arrow. There was never a chance in the world
you could cut him in on a deal, but he was always a decent man, businesslike,
and never out to screw anyone. You've turned him into a vengeful sonofabitch.
The guy's out for blood, Joe. Anything he can nail you with he will, and I'm
afraid he might drag me and my boys down with you. You know Manny's dying of
cancer?'

'I
heard about it.'

'Did
you know that Coakley is working on him every goddam day? He visits Manny on
his deathbed and reads him the Bible. He's trying to work the fear of God into
him, and I'm afraid he might be succeeding.'

'That's
not going to happen,' I said. 'Manny is about as hard a nut as you're going to
find. No way is he going to be cracked. Phil's wasting his time.'

'Don't
be so sure of that.' Dan shook his head gravely. 'Manny's not the same man he
was seven years ago. He's changed. I visited him a few weeks ago and was not
happy with what I saw. He's scared, Joe, I could see it in his eyes. He's
wavering, and if he confesses we'll all go away, but you're the one who'll go
away for murder. And for first-degree murder you won't be sitting out your days
in county jail.'

'I
don't know what you're talking about.'

'Come
on. Don't kid a kidder.'

'I
still don't know what you're talking about.'

'Play
dumb all you want. It doesn't change anything.' Dan let out a soft sigh.
'Remember Billy Ferguson? I know you were doing collections for Manny back
then, and I think Coakley suspects that also. What both Coakley and I know,
however, is that Ferguson emptied thirty grand out of his retirement account
the day he was beaten to death. What I alone know is that you bet thirty grand
the next week with a bookie out of South Boston. And as usual you lost every
bet.'

'Whoever
told you that was bullshitting you.'

'Come
on, Joe. As I said before, don't kid a kidder.'

'No,
Dan, I'm not kidding you. I had nothing to do with Ferguson. If a bookie told
you that then he was paid off.'

Dan
smiled genially as he considered what I said. 'Maybe. It doesn't matter. If
Manny gives a deathbed confession that you killed Ferguson then you'll go down
for his murder. And even if he doesn't, knowing what I know about what you used
to do for Manny, there's still enough to send you away for a long time. So as
you can see, we've got a serious problem. One that's got to be taken care of
right away. Manny or Coakley, your choice.'

'I
don't know what you're talking about'.'

Dan
lost his smile, his large face growing deadly stern. 'Look, Joe, you're the
cause of this mess and you're going to take care of it. Plan A is for you to
get rid of one of them. I don't care which. If Manny's gone, Coakley can piss
all he wants but it's not going to get him anywhere. And if Coakley goes, Manny
won't have anyone pressuring him and he can just die quietly in the night.'

'Forget
it. I'm not doing that.'

'Not
doing what, Joe?'

'I'm
not killing anyone.'

'You
won't, huh? Don't play all high and mighty with me. Manny's dying of cancer,
for Chrissakes, snuffing him out at this point would be a blessing.'

'How
am I supposed to get to Manny while he's in the hospital?'

'You're
a smart man. Figure it out. And if you can't, then finish the job you started
on our DA friend. After what you did to his face you'd be doing him a favor.
One or the other, Joe. I don't care which.' Dan paused to scratch behind his
ear. 'I'm giving you a couple of days. Three at the most. And if it's not done,
I'm moving on to Plan B. I got to tell you, Joe, I don't like Plan B nearly as
much as Plan A, and I guarantee you wouldn't like it at all.'

He
finished what was left of his beer and tossed his bottle away. When he faced me
again, a pleasant smile had melted back onto his face.

'Just
get the job done and we'll have no problems. We can all live happily ever
after.'

'What
would you be doing now if I hadn't been paroled?'