Stash (33 page)

Ding. Now here was a useful piece of information. Two acres and a thousand-square-foot dwelling owned by Claire Dumont at 2364 Old Rainbow Lake Road, Township of Tear, Franklin County.

Normal protocol called for Keller to notify the Franklin County sheriff and have them check the situation. But that would ruin it for him. When you’re a police detective in Morrissey, you investigated residential burglaries, unattended deaths, vandalism in schools, bad checks passed at Morrissey Square. You submitted to evidence techs the bong found under the school bleachers. There wasn’t a lot of opportunity to catch the really bad guys, like his son, Andy, asked if he was going to. There had been that excitement some months back when a perp holding up a Bank of America branch escaped on foot. Security cameras caught the
track pants, sweatshirt, brown hair, and long bangs, the thin mustache littering his lip. No visible weapon. They locked down the schools and sent the dogs out. Every squad car on the streets. Then the state helicopters were called in and circled the neighborhood like flying bugs from Mars. Scared the hell out of everyone; the phones at the station lit up like holiday lights. The shithead got away, too, the theory being that he sprinted to nearby St. Thomas Church where he’d parked his getaway car in the rectory lot. That’s where the dogs lost the scent. One of the dogs, Sergio, kept sniffing and staring down Delaware Avenue, straining at her leash. She knew which way that fucker had gone.

Driving up the Northway and working undercover off a tip from a five-year-old, Detective Keller wondered if he was going to discover a van of narcotics and Mr. Jude Gates on the mattress with the lovely Mrs. Raine—regrettably the mother of the five-year-old—unless Gates surprised him and went the other way, carving her up to repay her for tattling on him.

Keller didn’t have a feeling one way or the other about it. Patty would pick the mattress and passion; she thought that way and usually was right, but it always surprised and disheartened Keller that people with children could behave so despicably, no matter how many times he witnessed it. Gwen Raine—he didn’t see it in her. She was attractive enough and he saw a gleam in her eye, but getting messy with a guy like Gates, that kind of gleam was a glare, and Gwen Raine gave off a soft light. Her eyes were calm. Her manner lovely and even. Of course maybe that could be attributed to her being stoned a lot of the time. The mellow mom.

As for the tall, dark, and handsome Gates—Keller wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be a fag.

What could he say, this was how he classified people. In his line of work, you always had to think in terms of types. Types who would do this, types who would do that, although now they called it profiling. He hated to say it, but that was the main reason he believed Sweet could be involved: he possessed certain attributes of a well-recognized profile. Maybe Keller could catch him, too.

He began his story three years back, his first semester of college, just like her situation now. St. Lawrence had been on his list, he said, so had Clarkson right here in Potsdam, and Colgate in Hamilton. He’d been angling for a hockey scholarship because he’d been the captain of his high school team and third-leading scorer in the league. A few schools offered aid, but it wasn’t nearly enough—you know what it costs a year. At the last minute he registered for community college, and even that was a stretch because he was paying every penny himself, working for a landscaper in summer, plowing snow in winter.

He ended up joining the National Guard, which seemed like a smart move at the time but turned out to be the worst decision he’d ever made. They recruited him harder than any of the hockey schools had. Two weeks a year, one weekend a month—it sounded like a fair deal. He’d get help paying for school. He’d serve his community, like when that ice storm hit two years ago. Remember that? When the whole northern part of the state lost power. He helped transport food and fuel, moved people to emergency shelters. He knew what it felt like to make a difference in people’s lives.

He had her attention now. She followed every word, her gaze moving from his mouth to his eyes. Once or twice he caught her
checking out his body, a quick scan down and up. He’d taken off his jacket, and his arms and flat stomach showed well in just the black T-shirt. The only problem: she wasn’t drinking. That, and he really wanted to touch her, feared his hand might reach out on its own before he could think to stop it. There were parts of his body no longer under his control.

“You don’t like your beer. Can I get you something else to drink?”

“No, I like it.” And to prove it, she picked up her glass and took a few gulps.

“Keep going,” she said. “I’m listening.”

You keep going, he thought. Keep drinking.

The rest he didn’t have much to say about. The call to duty came. He went, he wasn’t scared. In fact, he liked the idea of being a soldier. Someone had to stand up to those chickenshits. He just hated the desert, that’s all. Spent forty-six days there, until someone along the roadside tossed a grenade into his Humvee, and Aaron’s buddy saved his life. Pounced like it was a fumble in the Super Bowl. He’d never seen someone react so quickly in his life. Or die so instantly.

Aaron: the lucky one. This guy he hardly knew sacrificed himself to save Aaron. He still couldn’t get over it. But, Christ, was he grateful. Who wouldn’t be. I’m still alive. I keep reminding myself of that. But now he had to do something big and important with his life to make that soldier’s selfless act stand up.

“I was supposed to get a titanium plate and plastic surgery, but it never happened and I hated the hospital almost as much as I hated the desert. I was discharged and put on a waiting list. Now I’m missing part of my zygomatic bone.”

She giggled when he said
zygomatic
, then covered her mouth and apologized. “It’s the name of these obscure body parts,” she
said. “My problem is with my iliotibial band. See what I mean? One of my problems, I should say.”

“Your what?”

“Also known as a pain in my knee. It’s a running injury.” She picked up her glass again and took another sip. She almost missed the shelf setting it back down and he helped her, guiding her hand, a reason to touch her, a rush when he felt her warm skin, come and gone like an eyeblink.

She told him she ran on the Saints cross-country team but had developed this thing called ITBS and couldn’t race this week; in fact, the race was tomorrow; in fact, she really had to get back to campus.

“But you said you’re not racing.”

“I’m still part of the team and going to Plattsburgh with them.”

She looked around for her friends and he quickly pulled her attention back, afraid he might lose her. He risked touching her hand again and she didn’t flinch. Like petting an exotic and unfamiliar creature.

She said, “I’m so hot.”

“Like I told you earlier.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

But he could see she liked what he said.

“You want to go outside for some air?”

“Definitely. I could use that.”

“Drink up,” he said, and finished his beer while watching her take another sip of hers. He led her down the hall and out a back door marked emergency exit that was propped open with a brick.

In the parking lot, in the cool night air with the ground and cars still wet from the earlier rain, he told her she had beautiful lips. He asked if he could kiss her.

She let him kiss her and he knew from her reaction—she
tensed and drew back—that he’d started out too hard. He tried again, more gently this time, acting like she did have beautiful lips and he was honoring them. The simple act of kissing this girl weakened his knees. He’d not had that pleasure or comfort in too long.

When he finished, she said, “Wow, I’m feeling a little dizzy, but I didn’t drink that much.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

She looked around. They were alone in the parking lot, leaning against the side of his truck. She kissed him again, then stopped abruptly and said she really had to get back to campus because her team’s bus was leaving early in the morning for a meet.

“I’ll drive you,” Aaron offered.

“That’s okay—my friend …” She stopped and laughed. Her friend—who said they’d give her a ride?

“I don’t mind. It’s not far. Come on. You can call your friends on the way and tell them you got a ride with me.”

He pulsed from the X he’d popped earlier, although the half life must have spent. Still the glow, but not so radioactive. He’d sorted through the package from Jude and then driven all the way to Glens Falls to check out his buddy Guy who was home with his girlfriend, Rose. They each did one of the X tabs, monogrammed with an exclamation point on one side, yellow as the mums he’d planted. They got wrecked and listened to music and when Guy started making out with Rose, Aaron tried to get in. She pushed him away and made a face and sound like she’d stepped in dog shit. Guy got all puffy and ended up pushing Aaron and so he punched Guy twice, knocking him into an aluminum table that collapsed and Rose yelped. He’d fucked that up but when he got back in his truck he saw his phone on the seat blinking a voice mail, a beacon from a goddess as he discovered when he listened
to the message. He couldn’t remember what she looked like but thought he could pick her out if he saw her again.

“Come on, get in.” He unlocked the door and held it open for her. At first he worried he hadn’t used enough—a single squirt into her glass when she went to the bar. Either he hadn’t used enough or she hadn’t drunk enough of her beer, because when he got her in the truck she spoke clearly and said she appreciated the ride because at least she’d be able to get four or five hours’ sleep before meeting the team bus in the morning. She also noticed when he headed out in the opposite direction and she pointed out that Canton was the other way.

“Oops, old habits,” he said, and did a U-turn and passed the bar again, which she took a long look at as if trying to place in her memory.

Part of him regretted he’d put the G in her drink. She was being nice to him, he might not have needed it. Too late now. What was done was done. And it turned out he had used enough and even timed it perfectly because once they were turned around and heading toward Canton she opened her window and yelled out “Road trip!” and pulled her head back in and said, “I always wanted to do that.” She began to laugh and said she was feeling kinda drunk, at least she thought that’s what it was—could he believe she’d never been drunk in her entire life, that’s right, not once, even though she practically grew up in a bar or maybe that was the reason why she never got drunk because she’s seen a lot of drunk people and witnessed how it can ruin your life or at least make you very stupid and sick for a few hours.

Maybe she wasn’t drunk, she said, maybe just feeling good—for once. Maybe not for once, but you know what? Having a damaged knee wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to her. I mean, she’d be better in a few weeks after another cortisone
shot and regular icing and no running, although the fall season was basically shot, but right now there was no pressure on her, she was carefree and could do anything she wanted, no grueling training regimen, none of those prerace jitters which sometimes made her throw up although she was used to the puking, it wasn’t so bad, did he know what she meant?

He did.

Here she paused and frowned. Aaron looked at her and wondered if she was about to heave now. Please not on his leather seats. Then her frown passed and she was smiling and giddy again and saying where was I, oh yes … Did he know he was like the first person, the first guy, she meant, who hadn’t asked first thing how she got her black eye?

Forgetting that he had already asked her about that. It was what made her so special to him.

Well, if he must know it wasn’t a black eye, it was like a birthmark but really extra veins just below her skin—did she already tell him about that? And now she had two things, a venous malformation and iliotibial band friction syndrome wow she couldn’t believe she pronounced that properly but don’t worry they weren’t as bad as they sounded, they weren’t contagious or anything so when are you going to kiss me again?

He looked at her and smiled and put a hand around the back of her neck. He would have said her name but he’d forgotten it. Instead he said she was beautiful.

She unbuckled her seat belt and leaned over and kissed him. First on the cheek just below the part that was missing and it made him flinch and he felt sad for a few seconds, then she put her face in front of him and kissed his mouth, putting her tongue right in. He swerved and corrected his course and bent his neck to see the road. And all through the kissing she wouldn’t shut up; if it was possible to talk while kissing she was doing it, telling him
now he was cute and strong and how she’d always wanted a boyfriend.

He reached and grabbed one of her tits through her sweater. Not much there but it still felt like discovered treasure in his hand. She kind of squirmed and moaned.

She’d gone from zero to sixty in about two minutes. He should find a spot to pull over before the magic moment passed or she passed out.

He drove another mile and came upon a turnoff for a parking area. The tires spat gravel when he skidded in. Empty and dark, the one overhead light shot out by jerkoffs playing with their shotguns. He slowed and parked as far from the road as he could, next to a picnic table and garbage can.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“It’s hard to kiss you while I’m driving.”

She found this funny enough to start laughing, a horsey twang. At least she’d stopped talking so much.

It would be tough to do her in the truck. He’d have to recline her seat and bend her over the back of it. Not that he couldn’t, but he’d pictured going to a hotel and having a regular bed, maybe waking up with her the next morning and having coffee and a conversation, the way other people did it.

She wore a denim skirt and some kind of tights; he could yank them down and go to bat.

That’s how he was now—hard as a bat, jittering for a swing. For the contact and her flesh. He reached across her and released the seat and it shot back, giving her a jolt.