Deep Winter (3 page)

Danny trudged down the sidewalk with his hands shoved deep in his front pockets. He forgot to wear his jacket and cap again. When he was hungry, he forgot lots of stuff. He figured he would get a cup of hot chocolate this morning if he had enough money with him, but he would have to show Mindy his dollar bills and coins at the diner so she could count it and make sure he could afford it.

A station wagon rumbled down the street with a dead doe strapped down on its roof. Father and son hunters, both wearing orange hunting vests and caps, gawked at Danny as they rolled past. Danny smiled and waved like he always waved to townsfolk,
and the boy waved back until his father reached over and yanked his arm down.

Smitty's Gun Shop was opening for the day. Long rows of hunting rifles were lined up and displayed in the front window. Danny slowed a bit and peered at them from a safe distance. He didn't like hunting so much. Didn't want to kill nothing. Uncle Brett took him hunting once when he turned twelve, the age when everybody was given a gun and sent out to the woods. Danny remembered not liking the loud sound of the rifle and the bitter smell of gunpowder. When Uncle Brett asked him if he wanted to fire off the gun, Danny shook his head. Uncle Brett had shot a twelve-point buck and seemed real pleased by the number of antlers on the deer—he counted the points three or four times to make real sure he was adding them up right. He had never seen his uncle so happy before. Uncle Brett was smiling and everything, and he even tried to get Danny to touch the buck's carcass.

Go ahead and give him a feel, boy.

The deer was still warm. Danny remembered staring down at the dead animal and thinking that just a few moments ago the deer was alive and well and walking around in the woods. Dark blood splattered on the white snowbank that the deer had finally fallen into. A pink tongue poked out of its foamy mouth a few inches, and its eyes were wide open and unblinking. Uncle Brett smiled at his trophy as he bent down to field-dress it. He drove his hunting knife into the animal's breastbone and began to cut through the hide to the base of the tail. As the skin split open and a warm tangle of intestines spilled out into the snow, Danny began to cry. Uncle Brett's smile disappeared real fast.

Jesus Christ, Danny. It's just a fucking deer. Don't be such a pussy.

Danny didn't know back then what a pussy was, but he knew he
wasn't supposed to be one. That was the last time Uncle Brett had taken him hunting.

Danny forced his eyes away from Smitty's Gun Shop and continued down the sidewalk. He passed by EB's Market. A housewife eager to get a jump on her day hustled inside, still wearing rollers in her hair and wrapped up tight in a long winter jacket. Danny wanted to remember to pick up some pork and beans on his way back home. He could get two big cans for a dollar, and they filled him up fine.

At the corner of Main Street, he went left onto Prospect Street. Up ahead stood the Friedenshutten restaurant, serving breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The sign over the front door promised
A GOOD MEAL AT A GOOD PRICE.
A half dozen cars, winter-worn and rusted up, and a few tractor-trailers filled the small gravel parking lot. Danny kicked the slush from his boots and stepped inside.

T
he bell over the front door jingled, and the eyes of the regulars all hung on Danny as he entered. Two old farmers, bent and hunched in the first booth, mumbled to each other, coffee mugs pressed to their thin lips. The same two farmers always sat in the same booth every day, and every day that Danny came in, they turned away from him and whispered to each other.

Mindy worked back behind the counter filling the salt shakers and watched the whole thing. She shook her head, irritated with each and every one of the intolerant SOBs.

Oh, Lord, people. You'd think Frankenstein just walked in.

Mindy's blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her eyes sparkled like big blue gemstones. She looked tired but gave customers a wide smile as she replaced their salt shakers with freshly filled ones. Some smoker's lines creased the edges of her mouth and
around her eyes, but Mindy didn't try to cover them with makeup. She wore her waitress uniform tight—the way she liked it
and
the way the men customers liked it. The female customers? Not so much. Mindy knew she might be a little too flirty, but it was innocent and all in good fun, and it sure helped with the tip situation.

Mindy watched poor Danny, with his eyes cast to the floor, lumbering his way to his usual spot—the last stool at the end of the long breakfast counter. He plopped down, folded his beefy hands in his lap, and waited.

God bless him. Always so patient,
Mindy thought.

Danny didn't move to pick up the laminated menu that stood between a napkin dispenser and a bottle of ketchup. Mindy knew his order by heart—always the same thing. She painted on a big smile and marched straight up to him. “There's the birthday boy!”

Danny smiled at the sweet sound of Mindy's voice and glanced up at her, but his eyes darted right and left, never settling on hers for long.

“How old you gonna be, Danny? And no lying, you hear?”

Danny grinned and shook his head. “Dunno.”

“Oh, phooey on that. We got the same birthday, silly.” She leaned in close to him and whispered, “But we'll keep our age our little secret. We'll just pretend that we're still thirty-nine, okay?”

“All right. If you say so,” Danny answered, still smiling from ear to ear.

Mindy reached under the counter, pulled out a packet of Swiss Miss hot cocoa, and shook it between her fingers. “How 'bout a cup of hot chocolate? My treat.”

Danny's round cheeks turned red from all the attention, and he said softly, “You don't have to do that.”

“I don't
have
to do nothin'. I want to.”

Mindy poured hot water into a mug and slid it in front of Danny. “There you go, hon. Happy birthday.”

“Well, ain't this a sweet sight first thing in the morning. A real fucking Kodak moment. Oughta take me a picture and hang it over my dresser at home,” Mike Sokowski said, chuckling as he strode up to the counter and plopped onto the stool next to Danny. He took off his deputy hat and ran his fingers through long black hair that dangled down to broad shoulders. A thick tangle of a beard hung from his chin, whiskers creeping up his cheekbones nearly to the eyes. He grinned at Mindy, stroked and tugged on the beard, a few traces of gray hair peppered throughout. Sokowski made no attempt to hide the cauliflower ear on the left side of his head, a small twisted knot of brown flesh. In fact, he seemed to show it off like some kind of trophy.

“You ain't never given me hot chocolate on
my
birthday.”

Mindy gave him a sour look, her smile long gone. “That's 'cuz you ain't sweet and don't deserve nothin' nice.”

“Shit. Didn't hear you complaining none when we was going out. In fact, if I remember correctly, I always left you with a smile on your face.”

Mindy avoided his shit-eating grin and wiped some jelly stains from the counter in front of him. “Yeah, well, I ain't making any more stupid mistakes.”

Sokowski chuckled again, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “What do you say to meetin' me at the hotel tonight? I'm buying.”

“I'd say ‘fat chance.' Besides, I got other plans.” She poured Sokowski a cup of coffee without him asking.

“Shit. You're full of piss and vinegar this morning.”

“Yeah, well, you seem to have that effect on folks.”

“Come on, now. Here I am and everything to wish you happy birthday.”

Mindy gave him a look—not quite trusting his sincerity. “You actually remembered my birthday?”

“Hell yes. Got you a present and everything.” He took a few sips of coffee.

“Really? A present?” Mindy tried not to, but she felt a twinge of hope. Maybe Sokowski could actually turn over a new leaf.

“You bet. Got it right down here in my pants.” He let out a snort, then drank some more coffee.

“Mike. I swear.”

“Just kidding with you. Jesus. Like to take you to dinner. Wine, candles, the whole nine yards.”

“Said I was busy.”

“I bet. Too busy cutting coupons or painting your nails?”

Mindy just shook her head at him. “You eating or what?”

“Shit. I guess I sure ain't here for the company. Pack me a fried-egg sandwich to go. And tell Pat to try not to overcook it this morning. How hard is it to fry a goddamn egg? Bet even Danny here could fry an egg.”

As Mindy shook her head again and went off into the kitchen, Sokowski's hazel-green eyes turned on Danny. Danny could feel the deputy's stare but kept his own eyes down while he sipped his hot chocolate. It burned his tongue, but he tried not to let Sokowski notice.

Sokowski lit up a cigarette and played with the Zippo lighter, flicking it on and off, all the while watching Danny. After a minute or two, Sokowski finally spoke up.

“Whatcha know, Danny?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing, huh? Must be nice to know nothing sometimes, Danny. No worries. No problems. Just eat, sleep, and shit. What a goddamned life.”

Danny shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Guess so.” He watched Mindy working in the kitchen and wished that she would come back over. He didn't like being alone with Deputy Sokowski so much.

“You sweet on her, huh?” Sokowski asked.

Danny stared into his mug of hot chocolate.

“Don't be shy, Danny-Boy. I love women as much as the next guy, but be careful. Women are a tricky bunch. They bitch and moan and run their yap about shit you don't give a goddamn about, but you listen none the same, because you just want to get yourself a little piece. You know what I mean?”

Danny
didn't
know what he meant but nodded because he thought he was supposed to.

“You ever been with a woman, Danny?” Sokowski grinned and stroked his thick tangle of a beard.

Danny didn't say anything.

“Well, shit, we're gonna have to see what we can do about that. Gotta take care of the little man in your pants.” Sokowski laughed at the thought and took a sip of his coffee.

Mindy returned, toting a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and hash browns and a sack breakfast for Sokowski.

“Leave him be, Mike. He doesn't need your shit filling his head.”

“Me and Danny here were just having some guy talk. Isn't that right?”

Danny just plowed into his breakfast.

“Shit. Would you look at this boy pack it away? Fucker can eat.”

“Honestly, why do you have to go and be so damned mean?
Danny here is nothing but sweet. Twice the man you are. You know that?” Mindy said while giving Sokowski a cold look.

“Shit o'mighty. He can have you for all I care.” Sokowski took another sip of his coffee and put his deputy hat back on. He tossed a five-dollar bill on the counter and gave Mindy a wink.

“Well, I'll be seeing you around, Little Miss Sunshine.” Sokowski stood and popped Danny hard on the back. “Remember what I said. Take care of your little man, Danny-Boy.”

Sokowski made his way out of the diner, turning on the charm, smiling and nodding to folks as he went. He stopped at the table by the door and clapped one of the farmers on the back.

“Them coons still giving you fits, Merle?” Sokowski asked the older of the two.

Merle shook his head at the thought. “Hell. Caught two of 'em in the chicken coop yesterday morning. Killed three of my hens and ate near a dozen eggs.”

Sokowski tugged on his beard for a second, then gave Merle another pat on the back. “Tell you what. I'll stop by in the next day or two with my thirty-aught six and take care of the problem for you. How's that sound?”

Merle chuckled a little. “Sounds like a thirty-aught six is more than enough rifle to take care of them coons. A four-ten would do the trick.”

“Four-tens are for women and kids, Merle.”

Merle chuckled again. “Appreciate the help, Deputy. My eyes ain't worth a damn no more.”

“Happy to do it, Merle. Happy to do it.”

Sokowski tipped his hat over at Dotty, one of the other waitresses, and she smiled back at him. He held the door open for an elderly couple coming inside, then slipped out of the diner.

“Some things never change,” Mindy said, mostly to herself, before turning back to Danny and noticing how quickly he was scooping the eggs into his mouth. She gave him a little pat on the shoulder. “Don't listen to him. You understand me?”

Danny kept his head pulled between his shoulders and sopped up some egg yolk with a piece of toast.

“He's just mean to some folks. You know? Always has been and always will be.” Mindy could tell that Danny wasn't really listening. “Danny.” She spoke firmly, like a big sister talking to her little brother who got pushed around on the playground. “Don't let him get to you. Okay? I don't want you to ever change a bit. I like you just the way you are.”

Danny finally nodded. “Okay, Mindy.”

She smiled wide for him, but it felt more forced than usual. She knew she should take her own advice. Mike always got to
her.

S
okowski guided his 1981 Chevy C10 pickup down the long driveway, the big twenty-inch tires taking the potholes like it was nothing. Even though it was barely two years old, Sokowski had dropped a 383 stroker engine with 450 horsepower, a cast-iron crankshaft, high-performance pistons, and main bearings into the truck, and it was worth every penny. Sokowski liked his Chevy truck. It was his baby and beat the shit out of any Ford or Dodge on the road—and don't even get him started on any of that foreign crap. The Chevy's eight cylinders revved high as he pulled beside the weather-beaten barn that once upon a time used to be a proud shade of red. His old man—dead twenty-five years now—would shit, then spin in his grave if he saw the condition of the neglected barn, but Sokowski had his reasons for keeping it unpainted. He didn't want to give it any unnecessary attention. A dilapidated piece-of-shit barn
didn't turn any heads. It looked like a barn that was unused and vacant, just the way he wanted it.

Besides, Sokowski didn't really give a rat's ass what his old man would think. The old man had been nothing but soft and weak, and not much of a farmer to boot. His old man sure as hell hadn't cared about Sokowski when he took the coward's way out of life. He'd never be his old man. Never be a gutless piece of shit.

Sokowski tapped a Marlboro Red from its pack and returned the box to his breast pocket. He lit up the smoke and took a deep draw. With the cigarette tucked into the corner of his mouth, he grabbed a pint of Wild Turkey from the glove compartment and then alternated the places of the bottle and the cigarette. He took a long tug on the bottle. The slow burn felt good. So good he decided to follow it with another.

Fucking breakfast of champions.

He looked over at his sacked egg sandwich, and the corners of his mouth turned up at the thought of Mindy. Feisty little bitch. Had a smart mouth, but he'd be goddamned if she didn't have a rocking little body. Nice tits. Her ass might be getting a bit wide, but not bad nonetheless. Helluva lay, too. She got a few drinks in her and all bets were off. She liked being ridden hard, just the way he liked to dish it out. And once she got those fingernails digging in his back, she'd leave some pretty deep scratches.

Mindy had broken off their on-again, off-again relationship yet again, but she would come crawling back like she always did. You satisfy a woman in the sack and she always comes back, begging for more. And he would take her back. Why not? He had fucked a couple dozen women over the years, but she was by far the best, hands down. He would pile on the sweetness for a while, and they would be back in between the sheets in no time.

As he stepped out of the truck, a contented little whistle slipped from his thin lips. “Camptown Races” was a tune that always stuck in his head. Camptown was a piece-of-crap town ten miles outside of Wyalusing. He hated the town and the shitheads that lived there—a bunch of old retired buzzards that thought that they were better than everybody else with their stupid yard gnomes and bird-baths out on the front lawn—but he liked the song. He kept whistling as he headed toward the barn with the purposeful stride of a man with life by the tail. Before he opened the barn doors, he noticed the green Pinto parked off to the side of the building.

“Goddamn moron.” He flicked his cigarette into the snow, then stepped inside.

All the windows in the barn were tented with thick black plastic tarp, making it nice and warm inside. Probably around seventy degrees or so. A dozen bright fluorescents hung from the ceiling, and in place of a herd of cattle a large crop of marijuana plants basked in the regulated light. Sokowski took off his jacket, dropped it to the floor but kept his deputy hat cocked back on his head.

“Hey, asswipe, I told you to park your piece of shit behind the barn, not in plain view from the road. Jesus. How many times I got to tell you? And what the hell did I say about locking the fucking door? Christ, you're thick as a stump.”

A short fireplug of a man, soft and fat, nearly bald, and much younger than he appeared, looked up from watering the marijuana plants at the opposite end of the barn. The man's small face narrowed and pinched forward at the nose, two big ears stuck out on either side of his head, and his eyes appeared to be too big for their sockets. He looked like a possum.

“Thought I did. Shit.”

“Carl, thinking and doing for you is a wide fucking gap.”

Carl smiled and nodded, not sure exactly what Sokowski meant by it. “Get me any breakfast? I'm about near starved.”

“Shit, Carl. With all that fat around your waist, it'd take a goddamned month for you to starve to death.”

Carl glanced down at his gut and chuckled. His big eyes as red as beets.

“Christ. You been smoking already this morning?” Sokowski asked as he moved through and inspected his crop.

Carl shrugged and kept watering. “Just a hit or two.”

Sokowski uncapped the bottle of Wild Turkey and took another tug. He admired a lush plant. Smiled fondly as he caressed one of the large crystalline buds. “Northern Lights are looking mighty fine.”

Carl laughed another dumb laugh. “Smokes mighty fine, too.”

Sokowski gave him a withering look. “We're supposed to be selling the shit, not smoking it, assfuck.”

Carl was stoned and found this very pretty damn funny. “Hell, Mike. It's called quality control. Just wanted to make sure that our stuff is good. We gotta stand by our product.” He chuckled at himself a little more.

“My ass, motherfucker.”

Carl found this funny, too.

Sokowski went to a long wooden worktable lined with carefully weighed and wrapped plastic bags of pot. A couple dozen of them at least. “We're gonna take a run up to Towanda tonight. Teddie Comstock is buying twenty ounces.”

Carl turned off the water and pulled a half-smoked joint from his breast pocket. Fired it up, took a hit, then held it out to Sokowski. Sokowski accepted without hesitation, took a drag, and they passed it back and forth.

“You ain't overwatering, are you?” Sokowski asked as he looked around at his plants.

“Naw. I know what the hell I'm doing.”

“Fuck. That'll be the day.” Sokowski took another hit.

“Teddie got anything going on tonight?” Carl asked.

Sokowski released a cloud of smoke and nodded. “Having a party, I guess. Might as well stick around. Probably just gonna be a bunch of skanks, but I need to get me some pussy.”

“Think DePoto's gonna be there? Man, she's got a nice rack.”

“What the fuck is it to you anyways? You got an old lady.”

Carl took the last hit from the joint and pinched it out between his fingers. “Tired of fucking that shit. The woman's getting fat.”

“You look at
your
fat ass recently? You really think she wants to be crawling on top of that?”

Carl grinned and grabbed his crotch with a dumb sneer. “Not the only thing that's fat.”

“Shit,” Sokowski muttered.

“What's up with you and Mindy anyways? She not giving you any anymore?”

Sokowski took a sip of Wild Turkey and handed it to Carl. “That, shithead, is none of your fucking business.” Carl took the bottle and drank from it. “Besides, I need me some strange.” Sokowski smiled, high as shit now. “Mindy's a last resort.”

Carl nodded like that made perfect sense, and then something occurred to him. His face grew serious, and he scratched at the top of his head, careful not to disrupt the comb-over he had going. He glanced at Sokowski, big bulging eyes darting left to right. “So look, I was wondering. I got some bills piling up to my ass, and my clutch is slipping in the Pinto, and the old lady is riding my case, so I was
wondering if I could get a little advance. Nothing much. Just till I get caught up, you know?”

Sokowski lost his smile and glowered at Carl with bloodshot eyes. “Advance?”

Carl still couldn't look Sokowski dead-on. “A few bucks. Nothing major.”

Sokowski kept staring at Carl, stroking his beard like he was giving it serious consideration. “I ain't a bank, douchebag. I pay you what I pay you.”

Carl nodded and knew better than to argue with him. His shoulders dipped a bit, and he shuffled on his feet like a bashful child. He stuck his hands in his front pockets and let out a small sigh.

It was quiet for a few moments until Sokowski dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a fat roll of bills. “Christ. Don't go crying like a damn baby.” He peeled off a few twenties and held them out in front of Carl's face. “I'm keeping track of all this shit I'm loaning you.”

“Thanks,” Carl barely mumbled. He reached for the money, but Sokowski held the bills a little higher, right out of his reach.

“Jump for it.”

Carl sighed again. “Come on, Mike.”

“You want the money? Jump for it, dickhead.”

Carl reached higher. Still couldn't grab the money.

“Jump, fat-ass.”

Carl finally jumped, his white belly poking out from under his shirt, and grabbed for the money. He missed. Tried again. Missed again.

“Jump, little monkey.”

Carl jumped as high as he could manage and finally snapped the money from Sokowski's hand. All the jumping had him out of breath. “Damn, Mike. You don't make nothing easy.”

As Carl stuffed the bills into his pocket, Sokowski grabbed him by the back of the neck and squeezed hard. “You're my bitch. You know that, Carl?”

Carl just stared at him with his big possum eyes.

“Say it. Say ‘I'm your bitch.'” He applied some more pressure to the folds of fat on Carl's neck.

“I ain't saying that shit.” Carl winced in discomfort.

Sokowski kept squeezing. “Say it.”

Carl tried to pull away, but Sokowski held him tight.

“You my bitch, Carl?”

“Fine. Jesus. I'm your bitch.”

Sokowski broke out into a wide grin and released him. “Shit. I had you going, didn't I? You sorry piece of shit.” Sokowski laughed hard. Carl, not so much.

Sokowski kept laughing as he walked toward the front of the barn. “Remember what I said. Don't overwater this shit.”

“Where you going?” Carl asked, rubbing at his neck.

Sokowski finished the last of the Wild Turkey and tossed the bottle at Carl, who had to duck to avoid being hit on the side of the head. Sokowski grinned and gave him a salute off his deputy hat. “Protect and serve, motherfucker. Protect and serve.”

Carl forced a weak smile as Sokowski slipped out of the barn, then picked up the watering hose and squeezed the nozzle.