The Twenty-Three 3 (Promise Falls) (21 page)

THIRTY-FOUR

CAL
Weaver had to decide whether to follow Dwayne or the man who’d given Dwayne the cash. He went with the latter. Cal knew who Dwayne was. He needed to find out more about the other guy, because there was obviously something fishy about meeting someone in an alley for a payoff.

The two men talked for about five minutes, some of their exchange appearing heated. At one point, Dwayne angrily jabbed his finger at the man’s chest. His friend didn’t much care for that, brushing his hand away and pointing in return. But nodding followed; an agreement of some kind seemed to have been reached.

Dwayne shoved the money deep into the front pocket of his jeans.

Dwayne came out onto the sidewalk first and headed back to his pickup truck. The other man held back about ninety seconds, then emerged. He went in the other direction.

Cal sat in the car, watched.

The man crossed the street half a block up and got into an old junker of a Ford Aerostar van. A two-tone, blue and rust. The van
pulled out into the street, exhaust belching out the back, at which point Cal checked his mirror and moved into traffic.

He reached over to the glove box, popped it open, and grabbed a notepad. With a pen from his pocket, he scribbled down the license plate number. He still had a friend or two with the police—if not in Promise Falls, then elsewhere—who could run a plate for him.

The man made a stop near the park by the falls. Cal, who’d kept the car radio tuned to the news all day, had heard there was free water being given out there. He wasn’t interested in facing the crowds—he’d live on beer and OJ for the next few days if he had to. But his new friend clearly wanted to take advantage of the offer. He left the van running in the middle of the street as he ran over for a case. When he returned to the van, he slid open the side door and tossed the pack of twenty-four bottles of water inside.

Once back behind the wheel, he headed north, then took a turn east that led in the direction of an industrial area, and beyond that, the now-mothballed Five Mountains amusement park.

Cal kept a couple of cars between the van and himself. The Aerostar wasn’t taking a circuitous route. If it had been, Cal would have guessed the driver suspected he was being followed.

The van’s left turn signal came on, then the brake lights. Cal and two cars ahead of him had to slow to a stop while the driver waited for oncoming traffic to clear. Once it had, he turned into an industrial park. The other cars, and Cal, moved forward. He glanced left as the van drove on between two large warehouse-sized buildings.

Oncoming traffic was thin, so Cal executed a swift U-turn, then sped back to where the van had turned off. He rolled onto the gravel shoulder and came to a stop. The van slipped into a spot between some other cars. The driver got out and went into a business directly in front of where he’d parked.

Cal turned in.

He drove down slowly between the two buildings, slowly enough that he could read the sign in the window of the place the driver had gone into without actually hitting the brakes.

SUPERFAST PRINTING
, it said. Orders large and small. Business cards, letterhead, envelopes. Some work, the window sign promised, could be done while one waited.

Was the driver a customer, or an employee?

Cal parked the car and walked back to the storefront, but when he tried the door, it was locked.

He made a visor of his hand and peered through the glass door. A counter separated the waiting area from where the work was done. Cal could see several high-end, oversized copying machines, several desks with computers, and stacks of packages wrapped in plain brown paper. The place went back a long way, maybe sixty feet, and there was what looked like a garage door on the back wall.

Near that door, the man Cal had seen give money to Dwayne was moving some packages. He looked up, saw Cal, and waved him away. Shouted something that sounded like “Closed!”

So Cal knocked.

The man shook his head, stopped what he was doing, and walked all the way to the front. He unlocked the door and opened it a foot.

“We’re closed,” he said. He was wearing a small name tag that read
HARRY
.

“Sorry,” Cal said. “I just saw you go in, so I thought you were open.”

“It’s Saturday of a holiday weekend,” Harry said. “So we’re closed.”

“But you’re working,” Cal said amiably. “Listen, have you got, like, ten seconds to help me out? My company’s moving to a new location soon, so we’re going to need all new cards, letterhead, invoices, the whole nine yards. I was wondering what something like that would run me.”

Harry seemed to be weighing whether it would be easier to just help Cal out or close the door in his face.

“Fine,” he said, opening the door wider. “Ten seconds.”

Harry took a position behind the chest-high counter as Cal approached and rested his elbows on it.

“Did you get your earlier stationery with us?” Harry asked. “If
so, it should all be in the computer. We just change the address and print it all out. It saves you a little, because we don’t have to do any designing for you, but most of the cost is in the actual printing.”

“No, it wasn’t done here.”

“Well, like I said, it doesn’t make that much difference anyway,” Harry told him. “How much you need? Five hundred of everything? A thousand? Two thousand? Gets a bit cheaper as the numbers go up. And then, maybe you need more invoices than business cards, or letterhead. We can accommodate what you need.”

“Five hundred of everything would be what? Invoices, letterhead, envelopes, business cards.”

Harry did some scribbling on a notepad. “You’re looking at around four fifty.”

“How long’s it take? I could wait for it.”

Harry shook his head. “Not for an order like that. You’re looking at about a week or—”

Two loud metallic bangs echoed out from the back. Someone had pounded on the metal garage door.

“What’s that?” Cal asked. “Just about gave me a heart attack.”

“Delivery,” he said.

“Everybody’s working on Saturday,” Cal remarked.

“Why don’t you come back on Tuesday? We open at nine.”

Another bang on the door, louder this time.

“Hang on,” Harry said, and bolted for the back of the shop. He punched a big red button on the wall and the garage door began to rise.

There was a pickup truck backed up to the door. Cal recognized it immediately as his brother-in-law’s.

As Cal turned to look out the front window, he heard the truck pull in, the garage door slide back down. Then hurried footsteps as Harry returned to the counter.

“Sorry, mister, but you really need to come back on—”

“That’s fine, no problem. I’ll do that,” Cal said, turning long enough to offer up a smile of thanks. He headed for the door.

• • •

Cal made the decision not to follow Dwayne at this point. From the industrial park he went back to his hotel, packed up his things, and checked out. By the time he got back to Dwayne and Celeste’s house, Dwayne’s pickup was there, backed up tight to the garage. Crystal was at the living room window, looking out.

Cal parked on the street and as he went around to the trunk to grab his bag, Crystal came out the front door with a slice of pizza in her hand.

“You’re missing dinner,” she said.

Cal glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes past five.

“Looks good,” he said. “What kind is that?”

“Hawaiian,” she said. “With pineapple on it. But there’re other kinds, too.”

“Really?”

“There’s a pepperoni one. And a veggie one. And wings. He brought home lots of stuff,” Crystal said.

“You mean Dwayne?”

The girl nodded. “I forgot his name.”

“That’s okay. How are you doing?”

“I want my dad to come.”

“I know,” Cal said.

“Dwayne didn’t want to watch the Weather Channel.”

“Not everyone finds it as interesting as you do,” he said. “And it is Dwayne and Celeste’s TV.”

She moved in close enough that her shoulder was touching the side of his waist, but she was looking down and beyond him.

“What happened to my mother?” she asked.

“The police came. They’ll take your mom out. They’ll look after things.”

“Was she still dead?”

“Yes.”

“I knew that. It was a stupid question.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Cal said.

“I want to know what happens next,” she said.

“I don’t know, exactly. That’ll be up to your dad, mostly.”

“I mean, like right away,” Crystal said. “Do they cut my mom open and stuff like on TV?”

Cal rested a hand tentatively on her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch, he held it there more firmly.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “There’ll be an autopsy to be sure of the cause of death. You know what that is?”

“Yes.”

“So, yes, they might have to do some of that.”

Her shoulder pressed into him a little harder. “You don’t talk to me like I’m a little kid.”

“You deserve the truth,” Cal said. “I don’t know any way to get through this without being honest with you.” He patted her. “Believe me, if I could find a way, I’d try.”

“My mom said your wife died. And that you had a son and he died, too.”

“That’s right.” He paused. “It was a few years ago. Before I moved back here.”

“Are you sad anymore?”

Cal tightened his grip on the girl’s shoulder. “Every minute of every day,” he said.

Crystal thought about that for a few seconds, saying nothing. Then, abruptly, she moved away from him and walked back into the house.

Cal followed. Dinner was being presented in the living room, in front of the television. There were three open pizza boxes and a container of chicken wings with hot sauce crowding the coffee table. The TV was tuned to baseball. Dwayne was on the couch, holding a gnawed wing between thumb and forefinger. When he saw Cal, he said, “Just missed the end of a Toronto-Seattle game.”

“Don’t watch much baseball,” he said.

“Hey, grab a beer and have some pizza!” Dwayne said amiably.
“We got your veggie, which I got for Celeste, and Hawaiian and another one here with sausage and shit on it. Didn’t know what the kid liked, but she seems to like the one with the pineapple. And there’re wings, too, but they’re kinda messy.”

“Looks great,” Cal said. “Where’s Celeste?”

“In the kitchen,” he said, and went back to watching the television.

Crystal was eating her pizza at the kitchen table with a can of ginger ale. Celeste was at the fridge, taking out a beer for herself. She cracked the top, took a swig.

“Oh, hey,” she said, a smile on her face. “Did you get some pizza?”

“Just about to.”

“Beer?”

“Why would I say no to that?”

She handed him one, then brought down a plate from the cupboard. “Get some pizza. But the veggie is mine.” She gave him a look of mock fury.

“Like I’m gonna steal your veggie,” he said. “Dwayne seems pretty upbeat.”

“I know,” she said, whispering. “I’m trying not to make a big deal about it. It’s just nice to see him happy for once.”

“Sure. He brought home a feast.”

Keeping her voice low, Celeste said, “He got a deposit on a job. Or a retainer, or something. I think he said Walmart. They pay him a certain amount a month, and if they have any paving needs in their lot, they call him and he fixes it. So, some months he might do no work for them, but he still gets paid, and other months he might have a lot of potholes to fill or whatever, but it all balances out.”

“Sounds like a good deal,” Cal said. “I’m gonna get something to eat.”

“Remember, hands off the veggie.”

“You couldn’t pay me to eat that,” he said. He took his plate and his beer and went into the living room. He grabbed a slice of
Hawaiian and a slice of pepperoni, plus half a dozen wings, and sat down on a La-Z-Boy chair.

“Don’t get too comfy there,” Dwayne said, grinning. “Soon as I’m done here, I’m dropping into that chair and not moving till bedtime.”

“I’ll consider myself warned,” Cal said. “Listen, this is a lot of food. Let me pay you back for this.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“At least let me contribute.”

A firm shake of the head. “No fucking way.” He glanced around suddenly. “Where’s the kid? Celeste already told me not to swear in front of the kid.”

“She’s in the kitchen.”

“Good.”

“Celeste told me about your good news. About the Walmart retainer.”

Dwayne fixed his eyes on the TV. “Yeah, well, it’s a good thing, no doubt about that.”

“Nice to have something to celebrate on a day like this,” Cal said.

Dwayne glanced his way, puzzled, as though he’d forgotten about all the people who had died in Promise Falls that day. “Oh, right, for sure. You know, they were handing out free water by the park today, but hey”—he raised his beer—“who needs that stuff?”

Cal returned the salute with his own bottle.

“Remember what W. C. Fields said about water?” Cal asked.

“W. C. who?”

“Fields. A comic from years ago. Anyway, he said he didn’t drink water because”—Cal lowered his voice—“fish fuck in it.”

Dwayne laughed, slapped a palm on one knee. “That’s a good one.”

Cal set his plate and beer on a small table next to his chair, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, and said, “Think I’ll hit the can before I have anything else.”

“There’s a plan,” Dwayne said.

Cal slipped out of the living room, but instead of heading upstairs, he quietly went out the back door, down the steps, and meandered in the direction of Dwayne’s pickup. He’d backed it to within a foot of the garage door.

The pickup had what was called a tonneau cover over the bed, made of black vinyl. It kept items in the truck from falling out, and could be locked to foil would-be thieves. It could be tipped up at the back to allow an item to be dropped in, without opening the tailgate.

Cal went around to the far side of the truck and attempted to lift the cover an inch, testing to see whether it was locked. It was not.