Vengeance (22 page)

“Let’s go,” Rook told me.

“Can I have a minute?” I asked.

He paused with his hand on the doorknob to survey our faces. “Mm-hmmm,” he hummed before stepping into the hall.

“Been wondering how things were turning out,” Casey said. “You haven’t updated me.”

I could have pointed out that he was being informed about my actions. He probably had everyone feeding him information under the guise of being a concerned family friend. Whatever lies he was telling his associates was of no concern to me. I focused on the issue at hand.

“You introduced Aiden to D-Bag?” I asked. I knew the answer. I just wanted to see if he would admit it.

“Yeah. So what?”

“So what? So if Aiden got killed because of the drugs—”

“Aiden had been doing drugs for years. You know that. He was getting into different stuff. And he was getting it from some sketchy places. I took him to D-Bag so I knew he’d have a clean product in his system. People fucking die from sketchy dealers, man.”

“Oh, so you were looking out for his best interests?”

“Do you fucking hear yourself? You’re making Aiden into a saint and yourself into a martyr. Man, don’t forget who you’re talking to. I know the shit no one thinks anyone knows.”

“Whatever, Casey. I might have gone along on a few jobs, but it was nothing Aiden wasn’t already going to do.”

“Oh, yeah? Aiden was always the one with the plan?”

Casey clearly thought he had something on me. But he wasn’t making any sense.

“No? You gonna tell me you don’t remember?” he continued. “The time you fronted him the cash to get into the game.”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

As I spoke, I realized what he was talking about. It had been six or seven years before. I had forgotten all about it. But here Casey was, about to tell me one of my own darkest secrets.

“Yeah. You know. Five hundred dollars. You gave Aiden that money and wrote up a little business contract. You were going to get half the profits because you had fronted the money. And he’d earn his by dealing.”

There wasn’t much to say. I was still in high school, but I’d been kicked out of the house. I had some money saved up, but I knew I’d soon be scrounging to make enough money to stay alive. So I was looking for a way to get ahead. It seemed natural. Aiden was already into that scene. Why not score extra from his dealer and do a little dealing on the side? He was giving his own shit away to his friends, lighting up whenever they came over. So everyone already knew they could score off him. All he had to do was start charging, let the word get around, and he’d be a dealer.

But things didn’t work out so well. I don’t know if Aiden even used my money to buy the drugs or if he spent it on his next month’s rent. We argued about it for a while and then we moved past it. I hadn’t once thought about that stupid venture in all those years. But we had written a contract. We each kept a handwritten copy. Mine must have been burnt or torn up and sprinkled in the garbage so many years ago. But apparently Aiden had shown his to Casey. Or Casey had found it on his own.

“I’m not denying it,” I said. “But I was a stupid kid and I learned my lesson. How old were you when you encouraged Aiden to buy from someone in your organization? Twenty-four? And don’t tell me you didn’t benefit from it. Even if you don’t get a piece of the pie, you’re earning points with someone. You never do a damn thing unless there’s something in it for you.”

“All right. We’re both a couple of self-serving sons of bitches, you and me. Shit. That’s how I make a living. That’s no surprise. So don’t get high and mighty on me, Tough Guy. Everyone knows what I am. You’re the one walking around like he’s got a mandate from God Almighty to pursue some Justice.”

I did have a mandate. And not just from the Butcher. I had a mandate to be my brother’s keeper long before this tragedy occurred. And now it was my duty to seek out the truth and to honor my brother’s memory, at the very least. Beyond that, I held no delusions that my actions would be righteous.

“You ever thought that maybe it’s not me riding the high horse?” I said. “Maybe it’s you slinking so low it just looks that way from your perspective?”

I strode to the door at the back of the building where Rook was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He was sporting a wide but subtle grin that bespoke approval.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said and threw the door open ahead of me.

Chapter 26

Rook drove us to a barren plateau of frozen mud embossed with a convolution of troughs left by heavy machinery before the freeze. The car pitched and convulsed violently as it transected the ruts, no two tires ever at the same elevation. I braced both feet on the floorboard and grasped the handle above the door. Rook held the steering wheel like a captain of a whaler plowing through whitecaps. We came to a stop a few car lengths from the end of a construction trailer that had a light on inside. The car Moose and the Italian had loaded the Brothers into was parked along the front of it, along with the Brothers’ car. Branches of interstate swept overhead on colossal pillars. Intermittent invisible cars filled the air with eerie crescendos as the amalgamated growl of their engine and tires waxed and waned.

Rook unfastened his seatbelt, leaving the car running.

“Think this through,” he said. “You don’t have anything to prove.”

“I understand.”

I felt like a kid caught dead to rights in a lie, sticking to his story because recanting would be admitting to the original sin, the first lie meant to cover it up, and all that had followed.

“Then what can you gain by doing this?”

“Truth,” I said. “Justice.”

Those words sounded more abstract than ever in the shell of the car, in that phantom-saturated darkness. As if they had never been attached to a concrete example to prove their existence or nature. The strongest, most conflicting urges I’d ever known were battling in me, insisting on their primacy, demanding to become manifest.

“Cold comfort, those. Designed to soothe the agony of the victims and to beat the wrestling consciences of the accused into accepting their guilt,” Rook said.

“If that’s all I can get, it’ll have to be good enough.”

Rook saw in me that boy clinging to the salvation of a threadbare lie. He nodded, not in agreement, but in acknowledgment of my determination.

“Ethan, wherever you want to lay the blame for Aiden’s death, there is no math that can change the past. And the choices in front of you, neither of them means you’ll have a better future.”

A reply would only have extended the lecture, so I stayed silent.

“I know you’re angry right now,” Rook said. “Just don’t let your anger pull the trigger.”

When it was clear he expected a response, I nodded. He let out a frustrated sigh, opened his door and planted one leg on the ground. “Stay here,” he said.

He rounded to the door of the trailer, which opened when he knocked. He stood bathed in the dim yellow light as he spoke to the Italian, who had descended one step of the metal stairs and nodded his comprehension. Rook returned to the car, leaving the trailer light to spill on the deserted patch of dirt. As Rook sunk back into the driver’s seat, his men stepped into the spotlight, dragging the Brothers out to their retired police car. There was just enough light to see the Brothers had been beaten while Rook and I met with the Butcher. I wondered whether the violence was delivered in the course of an interrogation or if there was bad blood being worked out.

Rook followed the other car back to the road, down to the Twelfth Avenue Bridge, across the river, and out of town. I was familiar with the route from my teenage years. We were heading for Otis Road, toward the flats. I had a friend who lived down in the bottoms and I joined him a few times to build bonfires out of driftwood or the high brush that fortified the long stretch of beach. Those parties didn’t attract crowds. It was a dirty smudge of land where flotsam washed ashore. An uneasy place where voices hushed and the hairs on the back of your neck tingled.

Well out of town, we pulled through a gash in the dark wall of brush, like a gap of fence stretched open wide enough for a burglar to penetrate. The briers scratched my window as we passed. Rook parked a few hundred feet up the beach, letting the other car go three times as far ahead of us. The other car’s headlights and taillights extinguished. Then the interior lights cast a pale glow as the Italian and Moose extracted the Brothers from the car. Once the car doors were shut, it would have been impossible to know they were there, except for silvery strokes of the car’s contours under the sliver moon.

“This is your show,” he said. “Are you ready?”

Was I ready? I had been ready for hours. The last week had built toward this moment. Every question that haunted me could finally be answered by the only people with first-hand knowledge of Aiden’s death. But was I equipped to get the truth out of them? I had tried with Rook and failed. This time, though, I didn’t have to pretend to be the muscle. Rook’s men would fulfill that role while I dug for answers.

“All right,” I said.

Rook opened his door and the light came on inside. He presented his right hand to me as if he were holding a serving tray. In his palm was my revolver. I checked his face to see if he was serious. He nodded to grant permission. I took the pistol and got out of the car. Standing in the angle of the open door, I loaded the gun.

We closed our doors and tread the obscure corridor between river and wilderness toward the other car, careful of rocks and debris. The barrier of brush was a snarl of palpable darkness. The highest bare limbs were shadow scratches against the sky, which was faintly brighter. The moonlight gilded random arcs of the tangled branches to reveal how impermeable the mass was. The river on one side, the thicket on the other, and Rook and his men all around. The Brothers had nowhere to run.

My eyes adjusted to the dark but we were still enveloped in pitch. The ground gave little but was sloped toward the river slightly, so walking in a straight line was like driving in a car with a pull to the right. Or maybe the weight of the revolver in my right hand was the source of drag. Either way, I corrected course and stayed abreast of Rook. When we reached the others, they were in front of the Brothers’ car. I followed Rook’s lead and circled in front of them and turned toward the front of the car. The Brothers were facing us on their knees with their hands secured behind their backs. Moose and the Italian each stood behind one of the captives. I had experienced so many outlandish scenarios over the past few days that this arrangement of figures seemed, if not normal, at least appropriate.

“Lawrence. Jamal. This man has some questions to ask you,” Rook said.

Rook stepped aside, leaving me, pistol dangling at my side, looming above their glistening faces. Their breathing was choppy, alternately sniffling and huffing. I could practically taste their primal sweat and smell the trickles of blood. Larry gathered a mass in his throat and spat. My stance was sturdy, my pulse throbbing in my feet and hands. My eyes and ears burned. It felt as if the atmosphere singed and rose as steam against my skin. I wished righteousness could sear the Brothers’ hearts more intensely than any bullet. I wanted them to look into my eyes and understand they had done wrong and that telling me the truth was a step to penance.

“What happened to my brother?” I said. It was a command, not a question.

They stared at the ground, Larry leaning his head toward Jamal to whisper. Then they snickered, their hunched shoulders bobbing along, until Lawrence choked on his own laughter.

Rook motioned to his men, both of whom kicked the kidneys of the Brother in front of them. They pulled the Brothers upright by their hair. The medley of hyena laughter and of coughing through impeded airways gurgled on for several seconds. When the Brothers started to calm down, Rook again signaled his men. They must have been in this situation many times, because the lifting of a finger seemed to send a specific message. Moose passed his gun to the Italian and grasped each of the Brothers by their hair, holding their faces toward mine. The Italian stood ready behind them.

“Tell me what happened to my brother,” I said.

Larry stifled his laughter and cough, spat again.

“Who’s your brother?” he asked. He laughed at his own reply.

“You know who my brother is. Aiden Tanner. The night he died, what happened?” I said.

“Oh, shit! That’s right! That Tanner bitch got himself dead!” Larry said, turning as much as he could toward Jamal. Moose tightened the reins.

“A cryin’ shame!” Jamal said.

“Saw it in the newspaper. Got his head all smashed in.”

I knew Aiden’s obituary hadn’t said anything like that. But that didn’t mean these two hadn’t heard about it on the street. Still, he seemed to be baiting me by letting me know he knew how Aiden had died.

“Did you kill my brother?” I asked.

“What?” Larry said. “Who’s your brother again?”

The two of them wheezed out a few laughs.

“Yeah, who’s your brother? Man, we didn’t kill anyone,” Jamal said. “Well, no one worth remembering.”

That sent Larry laughing so hard he doubled over and nearly hacked his lungs inside out. I stood over them like a teacher trying to get two best friends to tattle on the other, not knowing which one of them was the culprit, but sure one of them was covering for the other. But these two were both guilty. If they weren’t why wouldn’t they say so? They might not admit to killing Aiden, but they definitely weren’t saying they hadn’t.

When they settled down and Moose poised them for another question, I asked, “Did Sterling order you to kill my brother? And don’t you fucking tell me you don’t know who my brother was.”

“Oh, shit! He’s getting angry. Hope he doesn’t hurt us!” Larry said.

I slipped my finger onto the trigger and raised gun toward his chest. He cut off laughing, but kept grinning. Since he didn’t take the notion of a bullet to the heart seriously, I aimed the gun at Jamal’s forehead. Moose pressed his captive’s skull against the muzzle.

“You were both there,” I barked. “I know you killed Aiden. I don’t need both of you to tell me what happened.”

“OK, man,” Jamal said. “I’ll talk.”

My chest was heaving. I focused on settling down. I needed to stay in control. Rook was even more still than the parked car, whose engine sporadically ticked as it cooled. The cold from the river was seeping into me even as my frustration fueled my anger.

“We found your brother down on First Street,” Jamal said.

“More like Last Street,” Larry quipped. Moose rewarded him with a yank on his locks that peeled his eyelids back and lifted his jaw open from the top.

“He was still alive,” Jamal continued. “Barely breathing. Must’ve had a bad crash. Man, I sent Lawrence to call an ambulance. We left when they got there. Didn’t want to talk to the police.”

I looked to Moose for some reaction, but his eyes were on the backs of their heads. I looked to Rook, but the darkness and his stillness gave away nothing. Could Jamal’s story be true? Even if the Brothers were sent after Aiden, couldn’t he have had an accident before they caught up to him? That would explain the placement of the motorcycle.

“Don’t listen to him,” Larry said. “He’s full of shit. That ain’t what happened at all. When we found your brother, someone else was already taking it to him. We scared them off because we wanted your brother alive so he could pay up. But they had already fucked him up bad. Nothing we could do for him.”

“Yeah,” Jamal said. “We never laid a finger on your brother.”

“God’s honest truth,” Larry said. “Hope to die.”

Was what they were saying any less likely than the idea that the two of them had been sent to kill my brother? But here the two of them were, more tangible than their stories. Well-known thugs who I could confirm had been roughing up Sterling’s customers and who had just contradicted each other’s stories. Were they saying whatever they thought would keep them alive? Or jerking me around because they didn’t believe I’d go through with it?

“Tell me the fucking truth!” I said.

I had let the barrel of the gun relax and now lifted it, pointing to Larry, then Jamal, back to Larry. He maintained a defiant, tight-lipped grin. I pointed the gun between their two kneeling forms and fired into the ground. I pressed the tip of the barrel into the center of Larry’s forehead. He recoiled briefly, maybe from the heat of the gun, leaned into the steel, keeping that grin turned up at me.

“Just tell me what really happened to my brother and I’ll let you go,” I said.

Larry guffawed at the offer. I caught Rook’s eyes and knew he could read the uncertainty on my face. He stepped up as if to embrace me, placed a heavy hand on my shoulder and leaned down to my ear.

“Go wait in the car,” he said, low and firm.

He stepped aside, exposing the sight of the Brothers, still grinning at me through their eyes, telling me I could never trust what they told me, their breath bursting into the air in puffs as if they were chuckling. The Italian and Moose behind them kept their eyes on the backs of the Brothers’ heads. I was careful to not even breathe as I took a wide berth around them. I didn’t want them to hear the defeat I felt. How could I have failed at interrogating them? All it took was a gun in your face and you told the truth. Who didn’t play along when those were the rules? Maybe it was best I let the others get them back in the car so I could gather myself and make a new game plan. Maybe Rook would coach me on how to go about it before we tried again. It would be a late night.

The drone of the slaughterhouse upstream was punctuated only by my crisp footsteps in the half-frozen silt. Thirty feet to my left, the Cedar River slithered and shimmered with impossible stealth. Each step felt as if I were dredging that entire dark current.