Violence (3 page)

“The one you have is fine.” Anderson ended the conversation. He thought.

“This one’s broken, too.” Tristan said bringing out her cell phone.

Anderson just looked at her, waited for the explanation.

“It won’t hold a charge. I don’t know what’s wrong with it.” Tristan offered unconvincingly as she fidgeted in the crosshairs of his stare before finally guiltily admitting, “Okay, I dropped this one, too.”

Anderson chuckled moodily and just shook his head.

Karen set the sandwiches down on the countertop and took a seat. “Are you working tonight?” She asked him.

Anderson grabbed a sandwich. “I gotta go by the club, drop off a check for the initiation, meet some more of the members. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Dad, you don’t have to join a club in order to have people like you.” Tristan lectured.

Anderson took the self-help book out of Tristan’s hand and scanned the title on the cover. “You want people to like you?” Anderson flatly remarked. “Pay your bills.
Then they’ll love you.
”

Tristan and Karen exchanged a look. They were used to his cynicism and simple philosophy on life.

“Dad, distrust of the world leads to stagnation of the soul.”

He liked it that Tristan was relentless and wasn’t going to let him have the last word. Anderson bit into his sandwich and a newsman’s voice on TV bled into their space:

“…In other news, last night an argument between rival gangs escalated into a shooting at Prospect Vocational High School. One student was rushed to Masonic Hospital in critical condition…”

Anderson shook his head disdainfully at the story.

“They found a gun in a locker at our school.” Tristan contributed nonchalantly.

Anderson stared at her with wide-eyed astonishment.

“It was only blanks.” Tristan added.

“Just blanks!” Anderson said, turning to Karen. “Maybe she should go to a private school.”

“Get me the iPhone, then you won’t have to worry.” Tristan interjected. “They have GPS and everything!”

Karen tossed it all off, distracted by more immediate concerns.

Anderson read Karen’s non-response as a cue that she would rather have the conversation later, away from Tristan. “So, what did you want me to come home for?” He asked.

“Nothing.” Karen replied casually. “I just wanted to remind you we have that wedding on Saturday.”

Anderson groaned. He didn’t care for those things.

“
Mom.
” Tristan sighed, protesting her mother’s reticence to tell the real reason she wanted him to come home.

“And there are some things the landscapers brought that I didn’t order.” Karen continued.

“
Mom!
” Tristan turned fixedly on her father. “Dad, these guys outside are really creepy. They were looking at us weird and everything. One of them was trying to look in the window at mom changing her clothes.”

Anderson was already starting for the backyard when Karen hurried in front of him.

“Honey, I don’t know for sure.” Karen’s pleadings gushed forth in a torrent. “You can’t go out there. Please, please, you can’t say anything. I just wanted you to come home so they would see you.” Karen’s upraised hands, braced against his chest, slid to his upper arms where she gripped his shoulders reassuringly. It was only her longstanding ability to smooth out her husband’s rough edges that kept him from charging out the door.

Tom Granger piled out of a pickup with two of his beefiest male employees. Granger was a landscaper who Anderson sub-contracted work out to from time to time. It was Granger who hired Derek, Gabriel and Ruben.

“Tom, you recruiting your workers from a chain gang now?” Anderson fumed, waiting in his driveway for their arrival.

“Sorry, Noel, I hired these guys for the summer. They’re just temporary.” Granger offered apologetically.

Derek, Gabriel and Ruben were lackadaisically laying sod in the backyard under the blare of a boom box spewing classic rock when Anderson stepped up with the others. Granger shut off the music.

Derek and the others immediately stopped their work, looked up.

Anderson lagged only slightly back to blunt the combustible nature of the confrontation, letting Granger and his men “handle things” as they walked into the yard.

“Okay, guys, you’re done here.” Granger announced impatiently. “Go back to the office. There’s other work I need you to do.”

“What is this shit?” Derek stared hard at Anderson who returned his stare. Derek drew back the shovel he was holding, and raged at him. “You fucking asshole!”

“I’m telling you
now
to pack it up!” Granger shouted. “Go pick up your checks!”

“Cool it, man! Ain’t worth it!” Ruben implored Derek who was irritated to be getting instructions from anyone, least of all Ruben. Ruben was trying to act like the cooler head when he was really just pissing his pants.

Everyone seemed ready to pounce.

Derek was especially spring loaded for action. A few nervous seconds passed before Derek finally threw down the shovel.

“Fuck you! We quit!” Derek hissed, slowly letting the situation deflate on what he felt were his terms. He walked off with a rat’s impudence, bumping the shoulder of one of Granger’s beefy workers, before he locked his gaze on Anderson, spit on the ground, and moved off.

Gabriel acted amused now, and followed his brother’s lead, brushing shoulders with the other burly back-up worker before retreating with Ruben.

Granger threw a contrite look at Anderson and shook his head wearily.

Derek and the dump truck were gone, as was Granger, the pickup and everyone else.

Anderson got into his Mercedes.

Karen leaned in the window.

“I’ll come home early, skip the club thing.” Anderson told her straightforwardly, fully meaning it. Joining a country club hadn’t been his idea anyway. If it were up to him, their social life would comprise Karen, Tristan and himself, that’s it. Karen was the one who wanted them to become members. Anderson had been approached to join over the years by the dads of daughters who went to school with Tristan. Anderson was a man’s man, easy to like even if hard to get close to. Karen had said it would be a good way for them to start integrating into the world around them. Maybe even begin entertaining. Expand their world and Tristan’s. It might be nice. Anyway, they were lowering the initiation fees to virtually nothing in this bad economy to attract members so Anderson was out of excuses.

“Don’t be silly, they’re gone.” Karen replied calmly, without worry, in a way almost like not wanting to have that discussion again, the one they’d had before regarding his propensity to be hyper-vigilant and obsessive. She wanted those qualities to be remnants of his past. “I appreciate you going tonight. I know you’re doing it for me.”

“It’s for all of us.” He said with a shrug.

She stared at him for a long moment.

“What?” Anderson asked, a bit discomfited by her Sphinx-like stare.

“You’re always so far away. I’ve been chasing you for fifteen years. You have to let me catch you one of these days.” Karen had also said this before, but there was a real tinge of wistfulness this time.

“I’m right here, babe.” Anderson replied, not exactly giving her the answer she was looking for, but she would let it suffice.

“I love you.” Karen said unaffectedly.

“I love you, too.” Anderson replied.

“Not, ‘too’.” She good-naturedly complained as she then kissed him deeply, passionately. She broke off the kiss, drew her head back out of the window and gave him a sexy smile. “Don’t come home too tired.”

Anderson smiled back, eyes narrowed mischievously. He caught her drift. He put the car in gear and backed out.

As he pulled out into the street he noticed Tristan in the living room window.

Tristan held up the flyer, gestured for him to remember the iPhone.

Anderson smiled, waved good-bye and drove off.

CHAPTER 4

         A
nderson sat at his desk in his office across from Al Ward, a private investigator in his late fifties with a pirate’s demeanor and a gin-blossom complexion.

Joyce, Anderson’s middle-aged secretary, handed Anderson some papers and walked out of his office and back to her desk in the reception area of the unadorned, workmanlike space.

Even Anderson’s office was simply appointed except for a framed photograph of Karen and Tristan along with a drafting board.

“One of my guys has an immigration problem.” Anderson explained as he glanced at the papers to make sure they were what he needed, then held them out for Ward. “Victor Ayala. Work visa expired. Something.”

Ward leaned forward, wheezing a bit and took them from Anderson. Ward had some weight on him, probably from endless computer trawls for info or sedentary surveillance, but he was otherwise fit for the most part.

“That’s what I have…” Anderson continued. “… and the rest is what he gave the lawyer who was supposed to help them.”

“Looks like they filed for an adjustment of status…” Ward gave Anderson a preliminary appraisal as he flipped through the pages.

“I guess there should have been an interview, a hearing, I don’t know.” Anderson offered what he knew, then asked, “If you could handle the paperwork, whatever he needs to satisfy immigration.”

“I’ve got an idea where to go.” Ward sniffed with some confidence. “I know some people. Might cost a few grand, have to grease a few palms.”

“That’s all right, he’s a good worker.” Anderson replied simply as he brought out a ledger and began writing a check to get things moving.

The men’s locker room at the country club was all lit up as Alan Murphy, a smiling Irishman with a broad open face, along with some other congenial members, led Anderson up to a locker adorned with a mock newspaper headline which read: “CONGRATULATIONS! NOEL ANDERSON HITS BIG TIME!”

“Your home away from home!” Murphy bellowed as he pumped Anderson’s hand.

Everyone got their chance to pass on good wishes and pat Anderson on the back as he smiled sheepishly at the display.

Karen Anderson, dressed in one of those Victoria Secret Signature cotton nighties, sat on a sofa in the family room with her legs curled under her watching a sitcom on TV.

Outside, a 1995 LTD rolled slowly across the edge of the Anderson lot line and came to a stop in front of the house. Derek, driving, killed the engine. Gabriel, sitting shotgun, picked several small round pills out of a baggie, threw back one and washed it down with some whiskey. He dropped a pill in Derek’s upraised palm and Derek instantly swallowed it, washed it down. Gabriel held out a pill for Ruben who was sitting in the back, but Ruben was hesitant.

“Take it.” Gabriel exhorted.

“Nah, man, I’ve had enough.” Ruben replied. Rightfully so. All of them already appeared jacked-up, ready for anything, and were sweating profusely. Ruben was blinking a lot, probably his simple attempt to stay conscious, and not blackout.

“Fuckin’ take it!” Derek demanded and Ruben finally complied, washing it down but choking on it, and coughing it up, spewing it and whiskey all over the back seat. “Pussy.” Derek derided him and exited the car along with his brother. Ruben got out of the back seat and followed them reluctantly.

“I don’t think this is such a good idea.” Ruben implored, shaking his head ruefully.

“Shut the fuck up! We’re tellin’ that fucker off, gettin’ us fired!” Derek hissed contemptuously as he led the march across the front lawn, half-crouched, into the driveway, bypassing the front door altogether. They all disappeared around the corner of the garage and headed towards the backyard.

The light from changing images on the TV in the family room flashed through the windows and flickered on the water of the swimming pool. It was a warm evening, the southwest wind had continued to push sultry warm air north and the leaves on the trees rustled all around.

Derek, Gabriel and Ruben crept up the patio, staying in the shadows, stopping to peer in the window at Karen sitting on the sofa.

“I don’t think papa bear is home.” Derek soon remarked after giving the interior a brief scan, especially pleased with his luridly observant witticism.

“Ooohh baby, I’d like to suckle her honey.” Gabriel chimed in, his gaze locked on Karen’s long shapely legs now visible as she stretched them out beneath the scoop-neck nightie.

“Let’s get out of here.” Ruben pleaded impatiently as he backed away, and made a noise, booting a cement mixing tub.

Karen immediately sat up on the sofa and muted the TV. She listened.

“Tristan?” Karen called, her voice audible through the screen opening in the sliding glass door.

Derek and the others stayed stone still, not moving a muscle.

Sharp contrast. The teeming men’s card room at the country club was abuzz with chatter, laughter. A baseball game played on a big screen TV.

“Nothing and one is the count. Men on first and third…” A booth announcer could be heard presenting the play-by-play.

Alan Murphy introduced Anderson to some more members.

“Barry… John… meet our newest member, Noel Anderson!” Murphy boomed as Anderson stepped forward and shook hands with two men leaning against a bar counter.

“Tristan? That you, sweetheart?”

Karen was standing at the opening of the sliding glass doors when she called out into the darkness that pervaded the pool area and patio. But there was only silence.

Karen slid the glass door shut and locked it. She stepped over to the land line telephone on a side table next to the sofa and picked up the receiver. She started to dial 911 but thought better.

It was only moments later when Karen was in the master bedroom closet, reaching up, and feeling under a pile of sweaters on a shelf. Breathing heavy now, she soon found what she was looking for and nervously brought out a .38 Colt semi-automatic pistol.

Karen backed out of the closet, looking over the gun with unfamiliarity while behind her the door to the master bedroom bathroom edged back. It was Derek. He crept up, snatched the gun from her grasp and covered her mouth with his hand.