I feel like I’ve finally broken through that slump that all but paralyzed me on day six. It was tough getting going this time, but once I did the only thing that stopped me was the need to sleep (seriously, I was starting to see double).
I’ve noticed a few interesting things in myself about just going for this story without thinking it through too much before hand. First of all, the characters are taking over. If I get stuck, all I have to do is toss in a new character, or bring an old one back into the scene, and let them go at it. It’s wonderful. Second is that I’m beginning to feel for these characters, especially Yadira. Accusing her of being anything less than a model cop upsets me, I mean I’ve already killed her, isn’t that enough?
On that first point, I originally introduced Dante because I wanted to give Nick a friend. He’s had nothing but superficial, or outright antagonistic relationships with every character so far (except for Derrick, but they have a difficult relationship, and not really a friendship between peers in any case). As you’ll read, Dante and Nick had other ideas about that. I guess Nick’s just not meant to have friends his own age.
Anyway, I’m still behind, but not by as much as before (actually, only about 40 words), so as long as I can pump out at least 2000 words tonight, I’ll be back ahead. For now, enjoy, just try to overlook the typos and errors, it is just a rough draft after all.
Idle hands (working title) - Part 7
As I walked the sky became more and more devoid of clouds. It was still a dark night though, with the moon having set over four hours ago. I held my red pen light in my hand, inside my coat pocket, as I pulled it around myself and picked up my pace a bit to keep warm.
It’s strange how different things look at night, especially when you find yourself right out in them. I’d driven this road nearly every day for over a decade, both during the day and at night, but of course I was always sealed within my mobile fortress of metal and glass, effectively shut off from the outside world. The simple absence of headlights was enough to throw everything off, to skew my perceptions, let alone the sounds and smells. Then there was the fact that I was moving through it at a walking pace instead of a lively fifty five miles per hour.
The last half mile or so before entering Idle village cut directly through an old, expansive field that stretched out for miles in either direction over rolling hills. Large power lines ran through here - were the reason for these fields remaining undeveloped and unforrested for over a century in fact - and they faintly hummed in the still, dark night. No, that wasn’t right, that wasn’t an electric hum, it was getting louder.
I stopped walking, the night deathly silent around me in the absence of my crunching foot falls. It’s always shocking to realize just how much noise you make when you’re presented with true silence. And yet, this wasn’t entirely silent. That hum, barely audible at first, was getting steadily louder. I turned around, first one way, then the other, trying to figure out where it was coming from. Sounds tended to do odd things in places like this in the dead of night, and I couldn’t pin point it. It sounded like it was coming from one direction one minute, then the other direction the next.
All at once the noise was behind me, and very loud. I whipped around and saw three four wheelers careening towards me, only yards away, having caught air coming over a small rise in the rolling ground. I dove to the side as the touched down and roared past.
No wonder I hadn’t seen them earlier, they were dressed all in black and had only small lights mounted on either side of their open faced helmets. Headlights I would have seen coming, those lights were small and narrowly focused enough that assuming they had been trained on the ground, I had missed them.
As they disappeared into the night - hopping and skittering wildly over the uneven ground on the other side of the road - I picked myself up and beat the dirt from my jacket. I’d known that these runs along the power lines were popular with off roaders and dirt bikers, but this was a new one on me. The sheer idiocy of the thing amazed me, but then that’s what thrill seeking was all about, stupidity turned up loud. I made a mental note to mention this to someone at the Idle PD the next chance I got. Not that it would do any good, but at least that way, when one of those clowns kills himself - or worse kills someone else - I won’t have to feel guilty for keeping it to myself.
I wrapped my jacket around myself again and continued on my way.
You’d think walking two miles in the dead off night should take, oh, maybe half an hour, at most an hour, right? It should have, except that shortly after I was almost rundown under the power lines, a black van pulled up beside me and stopped. I reached for the Glock 19 in my under arm holster as the side door slid open.
“Don’t,” a voice called from within, “you won’t make it.”
There was a spark in the void within the van, a small flame that was lifted and ignited a red ember at the tip of a cigar before being extinguished. In that spark, and then the glow of the cigar’s cherry, I could make out the glint of a chromed shotgun being pointed at me. The man with the cigar was Dante Henrikson, the closest thing to an organized criminal around these parts. The goon with the shotgun stepped out and stood to the side of the door, still training the weapon on me.
“Now get in the damn van, Shamus, I’d hate to have to shoot you.”
“I’ll bet,” I muttered, as I climbed in.
The thug with the shotgun slid the door shut, leaving us in total darkness for a moment except for the burning ember at the end of Dante’s cigar. Then he switched on a light attached to the wall behind him which completely shut off the back of the van from the front. Nest to the lamp was an intercom system, and Dante himself sat cross legged on a low, deep chair.
He smiled broadly and held one meaty hand out to me, “it’s good to see you Nick, it’s been too long.”
I sat back on my heels, took his hand and shook it firmly, smiling back, “how long has it been, six months now?”
I released his hand as he laughed, “seven months, since you testified against me in the Ervin trial. I spent six weeks in the pen, thanks to you, you glorious bastard.”
Organized crime comes in many forms. Dante’s racket was mostly forged papers and pirated movies and music. That allowed us stay friends, which was good because I’d lost track of everyone else I’d known in high school after I joined the Army. Dante was my one and only link to my life before all of that. Before I knew what the world was really like.
He knew the score though, knew that I wouldn’t lie under oath for him or anyone else, that if I had a job to do that I wouldn’t let our friendship get in the way. He also knew that if he so much as thought about dabbling in drugs, or weapons, or anything truly unsavory, I’d break him in half without a second thought.
“It’s good to see you Dante. Yours is the first friendly face I’ve seen all day, in fact.”
“What about that assistant of yours, Derrick isn’t it?”
“Derrick’s a good kid, but he’s just a kid, and he drives me up a wall sometimes. If he wasn’t so damned good at everything I’m not, I wouldn’t bother. Speaking of assistants, what’s with shotgun Annie out out there?”
“Oh, that’s Reggie. He’s my sister’s kid. Not too bright, but he’s a good kid.”
“Not too bright, and you let him point a shotgun at me?”
“I have to keep up appearances, Nick, even for the underlings. If word got out that we were all cozy, it’d ruin me. No one would ever trust me again.”
“Can’t have people thinking you’ve gone honest. Seriously though Dante, I don’t like it when people point guns at me. You’re lucky I realized who you were or I probably would’ve shot him.”
He looked at me for a moment, then nodded.
“Fair enough,” he said.
“So, what was so important that you had to stage an abduction in the dead of night to talk to me?”
“I take it you heard about Cheevers?”
“Yeah, I know a little something about that.”
“I figured as much. You two were pretty tight, right? There’s some history there, if I remember correctly, right?”
“That’s none of your business, Dante. Get to the point or I blow.”
“Fine, fine. Cheevers was working on something for the past few weeks, something important if the whispers were right. I don’t know what it was, but I can tell you this much for sure, she’s been seeing a lot of Wally McConnor lately.”
I just about fell over, but tried not to show it.
“Wh… In what capacity?”
“Beats me, all I know is I saw his car parked in front of her place a few weeks ago.”
“There are half a dozen apartments in that building, Dante, are you sure he was there seeing her?”
“Hey, I’m just tellin’ you what I saw. I didn’t think nothing of it until I saw them at Rosie’s the other day. They were having some kind of argument, from the looks of it. I’ve had my run ins with both of them, so I split right quick after that. Didn’t want no trouble, you know?”
I grunted and looked away, into the blank interior wall of the van. Anything to keep from looking directly at Dante, to keep from giving him a good look at me and letting on how much the thought of Yadira spending time with Wally, on purpose, bothered me.
“Is that all you’ve got? You saw his car at her place, saw them arguing at Rosie’s, and that’s all?”
“Well, almost. Now, I don’t touch the things myself, you have to understand that Nick, I’d never go there myself, I just know people, right?”
“What,” I said as patiently as I could, “the hell are you talking about Dante?”
“Drugs, man. I know a guy, mostly into book making, but he does a little dealing on the side sometimes.”
“Are you saying that Yadira was buying?”
“No, man. She was strictly supply side. She came to him with some stuff she wanted moved, and he helped her out. He was supposed to keep it hushed, but it isn’t every day a good cop goes dirty, so he ran his yap a…”
I had my fingers wrapped around Dante’s fat neck before he could finish and pushed him back against the dividing wall. I guess he didn’t see me coming because the next word caught in his throat and came out as a gurgled whine.
“Don’t you ever, ever say that about Yadira Cheevers. She’s as good a cop as they come, better than most. Got that?”
He nodded as well as he could pinned like that with me clamped on his pipes. I let go before he turned completely purple and sat back down on my heels. He gasped, holding his throat, and sucked in air like a man drowning. After a minute or two the color had returned to his face and his breathing had returned to normal.
“Look, Nick, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say anything bad about her. But, I’m just telling you what I heard, that’s all.”
“Who’s your friend, Dante,” I said after a moment, “the bookie who deals on the side. Who is he.”
“Nick! I can’t, you know that.”
“A name, Dante, I want a name.” I casually pulled my coat back, revealing the handle of my piece. He got the message.
“OK, fine. No need to do anything rash Nick. I’ll tell you, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
I nodded, slowly, not breaking eye contact.
“His name is Charlie, Charlie Dyer. He’s got a place on Williams Lane, in that crap little development off 202.”
“I know the one,” I rose to a stoop, as straight as I could stand in the cramped space. “I’m ready to go now, Dante.”
He nodded and pushed the intercom button near his head.
“Reggie, Mr. Shamus is ready to leave now.”
“Thanks for the help, Dante,” I said once he’d taken his finger off the button. “I’ll be seeing you around.”
“I’m sure,” he answered dryly.
The door slid open and I stepped out. I was about to turn back and say something when Reggie clocked me in the side of the head with the butt of his shotgun. I went down hard, my senses reeling from the blow. I looked up in time to catch Dante’s gaze, he shrugged, and the door slid shut. Reggie climbed into the passenger seat and the van pulled away.
As I rolled onto my side and vomited from the pain, I reflected on how today kept getting better and better.
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