Envy the Night (16 page)

So Rob Dolson hung on to the mirrors, and when he died, Alice kept them. She’d passed a few years later, leaving Jerry a fifty-year-old collection of bar mirrors. They decorated his home and filled his garage now. He’d hoped to build the collection, but classic mirrors were hard to find—or so he’d thought until he discovered eBay. If he felt a bit fruity shopping for antiques on the Internet in the library (and he did), it was easy enough to dismiss that with the
recollection that the mirrors were, of course, advertising alcohol. Nothing embarrassing about that.

He’d found a nice Genesee mirror with paintings of men engaged in various outdoor pursuits, the slogan reading
The great outdoors in a glass,
when his phone rang. Steve Gomes had talked him into canceling the landline in favor of a cell a year earlier, telling him that the cell had free long distance and none of those bastard telemarketers calling. What Steve had failed to anticipate was that Jerry made few long distance calls, and didn’t mind talking to a telemarketer in the evening, providing it was a woman with a nice voice and he’d already consumed a brew or two. He had the cell now, though, and when the damn thing rang he saw that it was Bud Stafford’s home number. Nora’s home number, now.

Jerry turned the ringer off and matched the glare from the front-desk librarian with one of his own. Who couldn’t appreciate the Benny Hill theme song, anyhow? When he’d learned that was one of the ringer options, he’d been as good as sold.

Two minutes later, the phone rang again.

“It’s a
Saturday
,” Jerry growled. Nora had no right to bother him on a Saturday.

This time the librarian lobbed a heavy sigh with her glare, and Jerry stood up and took the phone outside onto the sidewalk. Nora deserved a lecture for this one.

“You never heard of a day off?” he said when he answered.

“Just rumors,” Nora said.

“That ain’t funny. I’m down here at the library and you got my phone ringing and bothering—”

“You’re at the library?”

“Ain’t the point, Nora. Don’t matter where I am. Point is, it’s Saturday, and that’s a day off.”

“How’d you like another day off, Jerry?”

“What do you mean?”

“You come in today, for just a few hours, and I’ll let you take Monday off. You’d be trading eight hours of work for about two or three, and you’re already in town. Tell me what the downside of that is.”

No downside that he could perceive, other than caving in to her request. He was silent, thinking it over.

“Time-and-a-half, Jerry. That’s what I’ll pay you if you come in today.”

“What the hell do you need me there for? We don’t have anything all that urgent.”

“We do now. I want that Lexus put back together, and I want it put back together fast.”

“Nora, that car is not a one-day fix. Hell, we’re gonna need parts that’ll take a day or two just to get—”

“You’re not fixing it. You’re just putting it back into one piece so I can get it out of my shop.”

“Guy wants to take it somewhere else?” This was not good. Jerry had a thousand bucks riding on that car.

“The police want to take it elsewhere.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to get into it on the phone, Jerry, but I need that car back together, and I need it to happen today.”

Shit. If the cops were already onto this car, he might have lost his chance at the grand already. Of course, that AJ character had offered him half of that if he could get the little tracking device, and Jerry had turned him down because he didn’t have access to the shop over the weekend. Well, he did now.

“All right, Nora. I can come down there. Time-and-a-half and Monday off, I’ll come down there.”

“The very soul of generosity.”

“No problem,” he told her, and then he disconnected the phone.

This was working out to be a fine weekend. He had little on his plate for the rest of the day, and now he was going to make time-and-a-half
plus
the five hundred AJ had promised him in return for that tracking device. That Genesee mirror had just become much more affordable.

He went into the library, purchased the mirror, and logged off the Internet. Giving the librarian a mocking wink and salute, he walked back into the sunlit day and reached into his pocket and extracted the bar napkin he’d put there when he left the house that morning. AJ was probably going to appreciate this phone call just as much as Jerry had ended up appreciating Nora’s.

He answered on the second ring, and Jerry told him the situation while he walked away from the library and down the hill toward the river. The Wisconsin rolled right behind the library, wide and languid at this spot, a water skier working up by the bridge.

“Deal still stands—you get the tracking box, I get the five hundred?”

“You want to take me up on that deal.” AJ’s voice was different today. Kind of uneasy, wary.

“I
will
take you up on it. If you ain’t interested anymore, though, shit, it’s no skin off my back.”

“I thought you couldn’t get in the shop on weekends.”

“I just
told
you, she’s paying me time-and-a-half to come in.”

“And she didn’t tell you why that was?”

“I assume the boy you’re so interested in is coming back for the car.” Jerry didn’t want to repeat Nora’s reference to the cops; it seemed like something that could kill this deal before he made a dime.

“That seems unlikely.”

“Well, I don’t know. I’m just saying if you want your gadget back, now’s the time to get it.”

“You’re asking me to come back to that body shop?”

“Man, I ain’t asking you nothing. I’m telling you I can get my hands on the thing. That’s all.”

AJ went quiet for so long Jerry thought he’d hung up.

“You there?”

“Yes. All right. You get that tracking device, and return to the bar where we talked yesterday. Go there at seven o’clock.”

“And you’ll bring the money.”

“Yes, Mr. Dolson. I will bring the money.”

Being alone in the shop again wasn’t a good feeling. Believe it or not, Nora was anxious for Jerry’s arrival, something that had never occurred before. Frank Temple had offered to come into town with her, but she’d declined, disliking that maiden-in-distress vibe of relying on some strange male for protection. Besides, she was still reeling from what he’d told her. A
hit man
? At the Willow Flowage?

She wanted to consider it a joke. Might have been able to, were it not for the sorrow she saw in Frank’s eyes as he’d told her the story. That haunted look he wore when he talked about his father was chilling. If he could conjure that up just to screw with somebody’s mind, he needed to head to Hollywood on the next bus, get to work winning his Oscar.

So then it was real. That stirred a queasy blend of emotions within her, one that would hopefully be quieted once the Lexus was out of her garage and into police hands.

She left the office and went out into the main body of the shop and looked at the Lexus, sitting alone under the glare of the fluorescent lights. Since she’d taken over the shop, she’d found herself unappreciative of most of the new cars that came in. They had no personality, no soul. The old cars, your ’55 Chevys
and ’68 Mustangs and any of a two-decade stretch of Cadillacs, those cars were like friends. She felt not unlike a doctor while tending to them, considered the removal of rust and addition of fresh paint to be healing effects, and she was sorry to see them leave the shop. It wasn’t that she loathed the new cars; they just didn’t inspire any feeling within her. Until this one.

She hated it now. Feared it. Just standing in its presence and looking at those twisted and crumpled quarter panels on the floor beside it was creepy. She was shaken by the sense that the piece of plastic and metal was somehow aware of her fear, was studying her now like a large strange dog unfenced and unchained.

Her sophomore year of college, she’d taken a trip to Rome with some classmates, an art history study project that her stepfather had financed without so much as a blink. Her mother had made the request, and after he’d written the check, she leaned down and kissed his neck, nipped his earlobe, and rubbed his back as he smiled distractedly and turned back to his desk. Nora, standing in the doorway watching it all, felt a cold ripple spread through her stomach.

That trip got off to a bad start. Due to delays from bad thunderstorms over the Midwest, Nora missed a connecting flight and had to wait for nine hours in LaGuardia, alone. To pass the time, she visited the airport bookstore and grabbed the first Stephen King paperback she saw,
Christine
. For most of the layover, she huddled in a corner seat in the terminal with that book, amazed at King’s ability to make even a
car
seem scary. That was a real miracle of storytelling, she’d thought, to give menace to a car.

This Lexus, though, put King’s ’58 Plymouth Fury to shame. It wasn’t something out of a book, it was real, felt firm and cold under her hand, and its presence had already produced the most terrifying moment of her life. She caught herself rubbing her wrist as she looked at the car. There were thin blue lines on her flesh now, reminders of fingers closed over her arm.

A sudden, powerful rattling at the side door made her jerk, and when she stepped backward her foot hit the front bumper, which was resting on the floor, and nearly put her on her ass.

“Nora! Let me in.”

Jerry. She put both hands on her temples, took one long breath, and then moved to the door.

“Take my keys away, and then you can’t even unlock the door when you know I’m coming?” He entered the shop with customary good cheer, griping and scowling. It must be exhausting to be Jerry, carry all that hostility at all hours of the day.

“After last night, I’m never leaving a door in this shop unlocked again,” she said. “Not when I’m alone, at least.”

That caught his attention, made him tilt his head and lift one of his wild eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

She told him what had happened and was surprised by his face as he listened. He looked concerned in a way she wouldn’t have imagined he could be, concerned and almost guilty.

“Shoot, Nora. I can’t believe that. This fella walking in here and putting hands on you . . . shoot.” His chest filled with air and he looked around the shop as if hoping to find the culprit still on the property. “You say they hit Mowery, hurt him bad?”

“He looked
real
bad, Jerry.”

“I known that old boy since I was a kid. Sure, he’s given me a hassle a time or two, but he also drove me home from Kleindorfer’s once when he sure as shit didn’t have to. Other guys, situation like that, they just take your ass down to the drunk’s cell.” His hands had curled into fists at his sides.

“I didn’t know him,” Nora said, “but I was scared for him. I want to go down to the hospital today, see if he’s all right, and thank him.”

“Yeah.” Jerry’s eyes weren’t on her, didn’t seem to be on anything in the shop.

“What’s wrong, Jerry?”

“Nothing. I mean, shoot, just what happened, that’s all. I wish I’d been here, Nora. Got in the habit of cutting out ahead of Bud at quitting time, but I shouldn’t do that with you. Shouldn’t leave a woman alone in a place like this.”

“I’m not your responsibility, Jerry. Don’t worry about that.” She was touched by his concern, though.

“Well, that’s the last time, you hear? This is a good town, Nora, a darn good town, but in the summers you get people coming in from all over, people you don’t know and can’t trust. Long as that’s going on, I shouldn’t be leaving you alone around here.”

He looked up at her with a surprising sincerity in his face and said, “I’m sorry, Nora.”

“It wasn’t your fault. And I really do appreciate you coming in here to get that stupid car put back together and out the door. I’ll be glad to see it go.”

“No problem.” Then, banging his fist on the hood of the Lexus, “You think the son of a bitch who drove this thing is going to come back for it?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t want it here if he does. I’ve heard some things I don’t like, Jerry. Things that scare me.”

“What do you mean?”

She didn’t want to give him the whole story, hadn’t yet decided who she
was
going to give that to, but she was also worried and wanted to talk. It was one of the problems of her existence here; she was an outsider, a strange woman in a strange role, and her only confidant in the entire county was a man who needed help to write his own name. She and Frank still hadn’t come to an agreement on whether she should even tell the police about the Mitsubishi. It would be nice to talk things over with someone.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind with this thing,” she said, pointing at the Lexus. “Last night was bad enough, but this morning I talked to the other driver, and he . . . he offered some theories I don’t like.”

“The kid?” Jerry frowned. “Where’d he go, anyhow?”

“He’s staying at the Willow. I drove him out last night.” Best not to mention her return trip and invite more questions she wasn’t comfortable answering.

“What’s he know about it?”

She hesitated. No, it wouldn’t do to share any of this with Jerry. For one thing, he ran his mouth, and for another, he elaborated. Even a toned-down version of Frank’s account would soon be the sole topic of conversation over the bar at Kleindorfer’s, only by the time it got there it would probably involve terrorists and nuclear weapons.

“He saw a gun in the Lexus,” she said. “The guy took it with him.” This wasn’t a lie, and hopefully it would be enough to appease Jerry.

“You tell the police that?”

“Yes.”

“They say anything about this car? Have any, uh, ideas of what’s going on?”

“Not last night. I don’t know if they do today.”

He wouldn’t look at her. “Get on out of here. I’ll have this thing done fast.”

“I’ll wait on you.”

He turned back to her, shaking his head emphatically. “No, you don’t need to do that. Tell you what—you go on down to the hospital like you said, check in on Mowery, tell him old Jerry says hello. Then I’ll give you a holler on the cell phone when this fancy-ass thing is ready to go.”