my one short story from 10 years ago. haven't read it in at least five. wrote it while I had the flu in six hours. looks like it, too.
Crime Seen
Rain stuttered on the roof of my car, one drop at a time, sounding like a drunk typing a love letter with one finger. The weather was breaking to my left and the moon was dilated, haloing the foothills.
That was to be the last delivery of the night. I could’ve used the tip for pocket money, but no such luck, not from the Wagon Wheel. It was five miles out of our perimeter, but for some unknown reason Sarge delivered there. Most of Sarge’s reasons were unknown. That way, he could still say he had reasons and who could argue?
I’d be back at the shop in a few minutes, drop off the money and pick up Vernon around 12:30. I can’t believe I’m doing this at thirty. Still, money and luck were keys to cars I hadn’t owned in years. At least I had a boss who’d close up early in a storm.
I parked my little Chevy Sprint and knocked on the door. Sarge opened it, let me in, and stood there facing me. He was 6’4” with ninety-degree shoulders. He had a horseshoe jaw and a paper-plate bald spot. He learned pizza overseas, did his twenty then he opened “Sarge’s”. He spoke with a deep-dish voice that made even his compliments sound like threats.
“That was a pretty fast trip, out and back. What’s the story, Eric, got some place to be?” “Well, not really” I said, “just gonna pick up Vern and try to make something of this miserable night. Anyway, here’s the bag on the counter. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget to lock up after I leave.”
There’d been a rash of break-ins all over town. No businesses had been touched, but you couldn’t be too sure. I could be sure. It was us, Vern and me.
We scouted homes while making deliveries and listening to what customers said. You’d be amazed at what people would reveal about their lives, possessions, their plans, in front of strangers.
Then there was Vern. He was shorter than a minute’s peace. He wasn’t very good with words either, like he’d have trouble describing a baseball. Slow on the uptake. That said, he was the best friend I’ll ever have.
I picked him up at the 7 Eleven and we talked the job over on the way. We parked in the alley behind the house. It was a two-story house in bad need of a roof job. This would be a snap. A guy, sixty-ish, and his wife, were away for the weekend. By the time they got back, our trail would be cold. We’d be home free.
Vern took his usual place by the hood. He didn’t move unless I needed help with something heavy. Any lights coming down the alley, any neighbors turning on lights, he’d give a beep and we’d be gone. Simple as that. I’d leave the Hope Diamond before I’d risk jail.
That’s the secret. To be greedy enough to be a thief, but not enough to get sloppy. A thin line. Harder to spot than tan lines on Shaq.
I broke a rear window, climbed in and looked the place over, letting my eyes adjust. The place was ripe. There were hundreds of dollars worth of rings and watches in a jar by a sewing machine. I unlocked the back door and went out to tell Vern to sit in the car. I could make him out clearly by the light of the full moon.
Page 1
I grabbed up all those rings and watches, went through all the drawers in the rooms upstairs. More watches. Christ, these were people who had to know what time it was. In the last bedroom, there was a cedar chest with a 19” TV set on it. What the hell, I took off the TV and opened the chest. It was packed with every kind of trinket, necklace and bracelet you could think of. Plus a couple of antique dolls and photo albums. I took those out and felt around in the crap. I found the latch, opened it and slipped my fingers inside. Silverware. It had to be the mother lode. But the chest was heavy as hell. I ran downstairs to get Vern.
Even with the two of us, we could barely get our fingers under it to lift it. I’d thought it would take too long to carry it out armloads at a time, but this was gonna be worse.
After one last try, Vern said “Come on, Eric, let’s grab a couple of handfuls of this stuff and get out of here.” He was right.
“Listen, let’s tip this thing, dump it, and see if we can at least carry the silverware.” That worked, and we were walking out the bedroom door when we heard the faint sound of two car doors slamming. We looked out a window, and sure enough, they were back. I heard them laughing, and now at least one of them was downstairs.
Both of them.
Scared stiff, I whispered to Vern, “They’ve gotta have luggage. When he goes out to get it, we’ll haul ass downstairs then out the back door to the car.”
“What if she doesn’t go?”
“Who cares? What’s she gonna do, scream maybe? Just make sure she can’t see your face.”
But he didn’t go back outside. Instead they sat at the kitchen table and talked of what a good time they’d had.
“Hey, Glad, feel like some tea?”
“ Sure. God, it’s been years since I was on a roller coaster! What a ride! What a weekend! I feel like a new wom-”
SMACK! He’d swung around from the counter and hit her in the face with a rolling pin. Her nose popped like Orson Welles stepping on a catsup packet. Then he bashed her on top of her head. It was over. For her.
Shaken up, Vern bumped his funny bone on the doorknob then let out a small yelp.
The killer froze, more still than his dead wife of 35 years. He listened. He heard that piece of [naughty word removed] car running, I know he did. He started up the stairs, taking each one slow, deliberate, like a card sharp making sure of a flush.
We were both scared. I took a chair and smashed the window with it, breaking off a few shards around the edges.
“C’mon!” I jumped, rolling when I landed. Vern stood on the edge looking down. “C’mon, jump, you dumb little runt! Jump!” He sat down on the edge of the roof, then he looked around. That old guy was climbing through the window.
Vern jumped, landing stiff on his feet after a 15’ drop. He fell down, holding his ankle. I looked up. The old man was gone. He was going for the car.
I put my right arm under Vern’s left and lifted up.
“Vern, we’ve got to get to the car before he does, and hope to hell he doesn’t have a gun in the house!”
Page 2
When we rounded the back there was no sight of him. Maybe he was going for a gun. We made it to the car and I helped Vern into the passenger’s side. Still no sign of the old guy. I got behind the wheel and we were gone.
We drove around town a few times. I turned the radio on. I turned it off. I turned the air up, then down.
The Vern piped up. “Sheesh, Eric, what’re we gonna do now? That guy prob’ly saw us.”
“That’s not the problem, Vern. The problem is we saw him. Did you see that? He smashed her skull without a thought!”
I put the radio back on, but turned it way down. Vern was a mess.
“Jeez, Eric, that crazy guy had to have seen us. What do we do now?”
“For now, nothin’...it’s his move. We’ve got more on him than he’s got on us. I doubt he’ll turn us in, even if he did recognize us. In fact, I wonder if we should turn him in. That might be the thing to do...yeah!”
Vern’s voice shook violently. “G-god, w-w-what’re we gonna do?”
My own thoughts racing, I replied, “The only thing is...waitaminitenow...what if he says we killed her? It’d be our word against his.”
In this old-fart resort, that’d make us about even. Still I reasoned, “No, no...we’d better not do that...it’s his move.”
We drove around one more time then we headed for my place. He called his older sister, Suzie, to tell her he’d be spending the night there. I gave him the futon and I took the chair. He said, “What’s gonna happen now,” a few more times and then fell asleep.
I sat in that chair for hours, watching a “Twilight Zone” marathon with the sound turned down. Every once in a while, I’d look over at Vern, sleeping like a baby. What a lost human being. He came into this world slower than some, though steadier than most. His folks had the code of a Bangkok pimp and gave him up when he was three. Later, his sister found out he was being punched around by his foster parents. She went to court and won custody of him. She’d been looking after him ever since. She’s a fighter, and aside from Sarge, the most trustworthy person I knew. And she made more sense than Sarge, as far as that goes.
Hmm, that’s a thought.
I left Vern a note, nuked some old coffee and left for Suzie’s.
I only knocked once. She answered faster than most of my fat-assed customers.
Suzie’s about 5’5”, not quite a brunette, a little plump, with clear skin and a plain face. Her eyes are anti-freeze green. Weary and sad, they keep her long story short. She dressed as simple as a rubber band ponytail, and tonight was no exception. A faded blue housecoat covered her from neck to knee. She’s 43, pushing 50 and dragging 20. I’d marry her in a second.
“What the hell are you doing here, Eric, and where’s Vern?”
“Uh, listen, Suze...can I come in? I’m in a jam and I need your ear.”
“Okay, okay, sure, why not? Have a seat. Do you want some coffee?”
“No, thanks, I’ve had enough tonight.”
“Well, then what’s on your mind, Eric?”
I stalled and stumbled and finally told her. She got mad as a hornet that I’d got Vern mixed up in crime. I should have expected that, but I didn’t. She turned to sleet.
Page 3
For a long minute, she stared right past me, then said, “You little sneak! You’re as bad as my damn parents, Eric, just looking out for yourself.”
That comment drew blood. I let myself bleed.
Then she spoke as calm and as sure as that maniac had acted when he brained his wife. “I don’t want you to have nothin’ to do with us ever again. Tomorrow after work, you bring Vern home and then get the hell out of town. You’ll be lucky if I don’t turn you in.”
“Aw, come on, Suze, don’t be like that! I didn’t mean no harm to Vern. You of all people should know that. And besides, we don’t know what that murdering nut is gonna do.”
It didn’t take. “Don’t think I’m a soft touch, Eric. Vern’ll be safe here. As for you, I don’t give a rat’s ass. I trusted you. Now get out, and don’t forget to drop him off tomorrow or I’ll call the cops for sure.”
So that was that. I drove back slow. The weather had cleared, and the streets were deserted. You could taste the smell of skunk. Steam off the asphalt seemed to bend the sword moonlight, and all my surroundings retreated. Where was I and what was I gonna do?
Vern was still asleep, and the sun would be up soon. The marathon was over. I hit that chair and finally drifted off.
When I opened my eyes, Vern was up and about; he’d cooled off a little. “Morning, Eric. How’d you sleep, okay?”
“Eh.”
“That’s good. My ankle’s not as sore this morning, and I feel better. I figure you’ll think of something. Besides, like you said, we’ve got something on him, right?”
“Right, Vern...yeah. Um, what time is it?”
“Quarter to twelve.”
“Let’s eat, Vern.” I was trying to avoid saying something that would upset him again. “Then we gotta get ready for work. By the way, do you have anything valuable over here?”
“Jeez - lemme think - no just the TV. Why, Eric, are we going someplace?”
God, this was gonna break my heart. A heart I’d always thought was railroad steel. “No, no, nothin’ like that. Throw the set in my trunk, okay? We’re taking it to your sister’s later.”
He smiled wide, “Sure, whatever you say, Eric.”
When we got to the store, Sarge was just turning the sign around. First thing, Sarge said, “It’s just like you two cherries to be late. We’ve already got a delivery to the Wagon Wheel. Who wants it?”
I said defensively, “Hey, I went yesterday. It’s Vern’s turn!”
“Fine by me!” Vern said as cheerfully as if I’d offered him a quarter.
Then Sarge groaned, “It’ll be a few yet. This is one of our new “Specialty” pies, The Aloha. Whatever happened to anchovies? Now people want pineapple on their pizzas. There’s a dollar in ‘em, but they’re a sharper pain in the ass than a turd with no point. Mark my words. In ten years time, the cheese pie’ll be gone the way of the dodo and the snaggle-toothed snipe. Christ, Mussolini must be glad he’s dead!”
While Sarge finished the pie, Vern read the comics and I read the paper. The killer’s name is Jake Lester. It said that his wife of 37 years, Gladys, had surprised two thieves who panicked and killed her, probably the same two who had been hitting homes all over town. Police had few leads, if any.
Pg. 4
So. He’d blamed it on us, but didn’t know who we were. Or at least didn’t tell the police.
So far, so good.
Now Sarge was saying, “You can take my car, Vern, but I want you back here in twenty
or I’ll be all over your ass like Rock Hudson.”
“Gee, sure Sarge, twenty minutes.”
Man, that kid could take abuse and not even know it. Vern scooped up the pizza and left.
I can see it now.
Vern liked the drive out to the Wagon Wheel. He didn’t care about the lousy tips, the poor
happy fool.
He parked the car, found the room and knocked. A muffled voice said, “I’m in the shower, come on in.” Now, we never, never went in a customer’s home or room unless they were right there. But Vern was polite besides being two chicken nuggets short of an eight piece. He stepped in the doorway, holding the knob. The voice from the bathroom says, “Hey, can you close the door, I’ve got a cold.” Vern closed the door behind him, looking for a place to lay the pizza. The guy comes out of the bathroom toweling off his head. Vern can’t see his face.
“What’s the damage, kid?” He walked right up to Vern.
“What’s the what...Oh...Uh, twelve-fi...” Vern saw the gun come from under the towel, but that was it. He heard or felt nothing. Instant oblivion.
When Vern left I started reading again. After a while Sarge grunted in my direction, “Why so glum? Did you get the bowl with the black cornflake again?”
“Uh, no”, I laughed weakly, “No, Sarge- just a little short of cash.”
“Low on funds, huh? You kids today don’t know what it’s like to be broke. Hey, that reminds me...?” Or did it? He thought a second. Then he growled, his voice like a gunshot in a mineshaft. “Listen son, I’m getting killed on plastic forks and spoons. As of next month, we’re switching to sporks. And don’t be so damned generous with those, either. I know most of these shmucks wash ‘em off and use ‘em at home.”
“Sure, Sarge, whatever you want.”
“Damn right. And I want you to pass it along to that little pussy fart, Vern. Christ, I saw
him hand out mustard with a pizza last week. Who puts mustard on their pizza? You know, we could both claim him as a dependant. Anyway, this one’s almost ready.”
“Uh...say Sarge, would this be a bad time to ask you for gas money?”
He just looked at me. Like Van Gogh looked at that ear.
“Take the money for this pie and gas up that Radio Flyer of yours, OK?
Neither of us spoke while he pulled an X-tra large Acapulco from the oven. It took a moment to spice-n-slice it. You could tell he hated that pie.
Then the phone rang, breaking the silence the way pavement breaks a fall.
“Sarge’s Italian, what can I getchya?”
More silence.
“Ok, officer...thanks. Yeah, I’ll be here late.”
Pg. 5
He hung up and turned to face me. He spoke slowly, in a one lung whisper.
“Vern’s dead. Shot twice in the head. Robb’ry out at the ‘Wheel’. I- I can’t believe it.”
He slumped in his chair, fighting back tears. I was stunned and scared at the same time.
Vern dead. I’d known him since I was eight and been his only friend since I was twelve. Vern
dead. That sonofabitch. He recognized us. What kind of a sick sonofabitch would shoot a gentle fool like Vern?
After a few minutes Sarge stood up and put his catcher’s mitt hand on my shoulder. “Listen son, deliver that damn pie and then go on home. I’ll close up and wait for the cops. They’ll drive me over to get my car.”
Then it dawned on me.
“Jeee...zus Sarge, I don’t feel much like making a delivery.”
“It’ll only take a minute. Then take tomorrow off, whatever you need.” He wasn’t budging.
“Weell, ok...maybe I’ll drop by later.”
I started my car and looked at the address on my ticket. The Sleep Inn. All class.
Whoever it was, he took his sweet time answering the door. I guess life’s too short to spend it in a hurry. Just how short, unlike Vern, this guy had known for a while. The first thing that hit me was tobacco smoke. It was like a subway fire in there. He was a tall, lanky man, maybe early forties. A forehead you could pitch pennies against. He also had a hole in his throat the size of a fifty-cent piece. Cancer. A voice box. If you’ve ever heard one of those things, you don’t forget
it. Like hearing a cat talk.
“You’re late. How much?”
“Uh...twelve-fifty.”
“Get cash.”
One syllable words. No problem here. Jeez, this guy was too much. I almost wished it was the killer. Almost.
He slapped a twenty in my palm. You could nearly make out ribs in his fingers. “Keep change.”
I felt something moving up my esophagus. “Thanks Mister. Have a nice day.”
It’d been a while since I’d said that. Forever since I’d meant it. I had to find a new line of
day job. I went straight home. I had a fridge full of pizzas. I threw two slices on a paper towel and miked ‘em. While I waited, I tried to calm down and go over it again.
He was on to me.
He told the police burglars killed his wife and there was evidence to support that. And no reason to think he’d feel like bashing her head in after two nights in Atlantic City. Case closed.
Not solved, closed.
I thought it through. The killer. Vern. Suzie.
There were three things I could do.
1. Turn myself in, hope for the best. Out
2. Kill HIM. If I have no choice.
3. Talk to him. See if we could reach a truce.
Pg. 6
Tomorrow.
I ate the pizza and just sat. Too wrung out to get Vern’s TV out of my trunk. Thinking...thinking.
I opened my eyes, the sun was up. I didn’t bother to [naughty word removed], shower or shave. I started the drive over. He only lived a few minutes away, but they passed slow. The night’d gone by fast. But it was like getting ten dollar’s worth of gas at the 7 Eleven. The $9.90 flies by, it’s that last dime that crawls.
This was it and I was terrified.
As I turned his corner, I noticed yellow crime scene tape all around his house and yard. I didn’t slow a fraction. I turned the next corner and parked. There was an empty pizza box in my back seat. I drove around the block again and parked outside the place two doors down. I carried the box to the door and knocked. The door swung wide. There stood a redneck wearing a hat big enough for a baptism.
It went something like this:
“Whut can ah do you for?”
“Here’s your pizza, sir!”
“Uh...ah didn’ o’der no pizza, son. Kinda early for pizza anyway, ain’t it?”
“We take what business we can get, but I must’ve got the address wrong. Saay, what happened over there?”
“Oh Gawd, that. Bad bizness. Don’t even wanna say. Ol’ Jake gets out of his car last night and gets shot. Three, right in the keg. Prob’ly them thieves come back to finish off the witness. Got both him and poor sick Gladys. He loved takin’ care o’ her. Woulda done it till doomsday. Oh well, they’re inna better place now, I expect.”
Hmm. “You don’t say. What’s this world comin’ to? Well, sorry to have bothered you, Mister. So long.”
I walked back to the car and drove off.
Suzie.
I was home and on that phone. “Yello,” she answered.
“Hey Suze- it’s me, don’t hang up.”
“I don’t wanna talk to you, Eric. G’bye.”
“No, wait! I know what you did. It’s OK.”
“You don’t know [naughty word removed]- but get this- we’re through. You’ve got some gall calling after what happened to my Vern. I never wanna see you again.”
Click.
Just like that. I stood by my fridge. A little wobbly. I’ll get over it. Still...I opened it and pulled out five pies. One of ‘em a Havana. I kinda liked ‘em. I threw my house key on the kitchen table, looked around and left.
I had one more stop.
Pg. 7
“Christ Eric- you’re leaving town? Why, for Godsake? Because of Vern?”
“That and other things I’d rather not go into.”
“I don’t get it. I mean, I loved Vern, too, but Christ Eric. Don’t be in such a hurry. Let the bag steep a while, son. We’ll pull through. You boys were my whole business. I’m too old and stubborn. I don’t wanna work with no one else.”
“I’m sorry, Sarge. I’ll be in touch. You’ve been a good friend. And don’t count yourself out. You can find two losers like us to jockey pizza anyday.”
He put his head in those big hands and cried like I’ve never seen or done. Like this was it for the old boy. The one moment that breaks a man in half. Men are like Hershey Bars. Made to snap along certain lines. My lines had yet to be found.
“So long, Sarge...be seein’ you.” I left.
He just nodded, settling into the tearless, dry-heave cry of the ruined.
Finally, he stood up, counted the till and put it into a deposit bag. Somebody knocked on the door.
A customer.
A shmuck.
He saw Sarge inside and knocked again. Hard, rattling the glass.
“Sorry Bud, I’m closed for the day.”
“Closed on a Monday lunch hour?”
“Listen, I said I was closed. I got my reasons.”
the end
