“They givin’ you orders now, Arnette?” the old fart said.
And you could hear the glee in his voice. It was not often that a citizen of Crystal Falls got to see Arnette embarrassed in any way. Benny Drew would tell this story far and wide and chortle about it with each telling.
“I got to go down and see Bowers,” Arnette said. He was glad he was wearing his shades. He wouldn’t have wanted the old fart to see his eyes right now.
The state faggot had embarrassed him and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. His cheeks were burning. He could feel them. It was like when he’d been a boy, when people would make jokes to him about his father. His cheeks burned a lot back then. And sometimes, even when he was in his late teens, he’d go home and close his bedroom door and cry just like a little kid. Every time he’d go somewhere, he’d know he was being judged. There goes Bill Arnette’s kid. Just like him. He fought a lot of them, Steve did, trying to win himself some respect. But you couldn’t fight everybody. And you couldn’t win respect with your fists. You could win fear and you could win subservience. But you couldn’t win respect. The worst day was the day they buried his father following the heart attack. Steve and his mom sat in the backseat of the hearse and looked out the window. Folks knew who was being buried. And they smirked. And told little jokes to each other. He wanted to get a gun and kill every fucking one of them, every fucking one. They couldn’t even pay his father any respect in death. He remembered all this when, five years later, he put on the police uniform. He would spend the rest of his life paying them back for the way they’d treated his father.
He took a last longing glance at Eileen Conroy’s breasts and then strutted down the hill to the cottage.
“Your sister told you about getting a lawyer,” Sam Bowers said.
“Yeah.”
“Probably be a good idea.”
“I didn’t kill Darcy.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“Then why would I need a lawyer?”
“That’s just the way the law works, Richie.”
“You think I killed her, don’t you?”
“I think it’s a possibility.”
“A possibility. Shit, you’ve got me convicted and living on death row.”
“You need a lawyer, Richie. That’s all I’m saying.”
Richie stood up, walked over to the window, and stared dully out at the gorgeous day.
“I’m really in deep shit this time, aren’t I, Sam?”
“I’m afraid you are.”
“I didn’t sleep with her and I didn’t kill her.”
“I want to believe you, Richie. I hope what you say is true.”
Richie turned back from the window. “For Amy’s sake, huh?”
“For Amy’s sake and for yours. You and I haven’t always gotten along, Richie, but I’ve always thought you were basically a decent guy with a drinking problem. I want to see this whole thing cleared up for Amy’s sake and yours.”
Richie sighed. “I appreciate you saying that.”
He glanced out the window and saw Arnette making his way down the hill.
“Great, here’s what I need.” Then, “Arnette.”
“I’ll handle him. Don’t worry.”
Sam walked over to the door and opened it. “What’re you doing here, Steve?”
“Thought I’d see if you needed any help.”
“Well, I don’t. You should be in town, anyway.”
“Let you have all the glory, huh, Sam?”
“I’d watch your mouth, Steve.”
Arnette smiled. “You’re kind of between a rock and a hard place, aren’t you, Sam?”
“That’s my business.”
Sam could feel Richie walking up behind him.
“Amy’s not gonna like it if you arrest her brother for murder.” Then, “I always knew we’d nail that fucking punk.”
Sam had no warning. And before he could even throw a shoulder into Richie, the younger man had bolted through the door and had jumped on Arnette, throwing him to the ground.
The two men were then rolling around on the grass and throwing punches at each other. These were clearly two men who despised each other. They fought with no semblance of honor. They bit, scratched, gouged.
Then Richie was on his knees. He had enough leverage now to put some pretty heavy punches on Arnette. He must have hit the other man a dozen times. He knocked off Arnette’s mirror sunglasses.
Sam got Richie by the hair and yanked him to his feet. “Now you get in that cabin and stay there. You understand me?”
He gave Richie a hard shove through the door.
“The son of a bitch jumped me,” Arnette said.
The way his left eye was puffing up and starting to discolor... Richie had also, it appeared, given Arnette a black eye.
Given Arnette’s macho ego, he was going to have a hard time explaining away a black eye given him by Richie McGuire.
“You saw it,” Arnette said. “He jumped me and you’re my witness.”
“I’m your witness, Steve, that’s right. But now I want you to get back to town.”
“That son of a bitch.” Arnette was so angry, he couldn’t get a grip on his temper.
“You already said that.”
“This time you’re going to stick up for me, not him, Sam.”
“You’re right. I am. But now we’ve both got to get back to work.”
“That fucking son of a bitch.”
“I’ll see you back at the station, Steve.”
But Arnette could not be quelled. He glared at the cottage and said, “I’m going to kill that fucker someday, man. I really am.”
Sam knew there was only one way to end this conversation. He bent down and picked up Arnette’s twisted mirror sunglasses.
He handed them to the other man silently, and then turned and went into the cottage.
“Real smart,” he said to Richie.
“I can’t stand that son of a bitch.”
“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, he doesn’t like you a whole hell of a lot, either.”
Sam went over to the coat rack and grabbed one of Richie’s college letter jackets.
He threw it to Richie and said, “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“You’re riding into town. By now, Amy’s arranged for a lawyer. You need to sit down and talk to him.”
“This whole fucking town is going to railroad me.”
“Now you sound as paranoid as Arnette.”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not true, Richie. The Chief and I want a real investigation done. We’ll find the real killer. That I don’t have any doubt about. But in the meantime, you need to talk to a lawyer. And you need to stay out of trouble. Jumping Arnette that way was a stupid thing to do.”
“Yeah, well maybe it made me feel better.”
The juvenile belligerence of Richie’s voice irritated Sam. He said, “Put your jacket on and let’s get the hell out of here.”
4
“I’m very sorry, Amy,” Mrs. Gallagher said at the lunch counter that afternoon. “You did so much for that boy and now look. I just want you to know that we’re all behind you, Amy, one hundred percent.”
There’d been a Woolworth in Crystal Falls until the late seventies. The lunch counter there had been the place to eat when you were going through your young years. Nothing had been more thrilling to Amy, back in her high school days, than to sit at the Woolworth lunch counter and have a ham sandwich and a vanilla shake. Her grandfather used to sit at this counter. Her parents, back when they were first dating, also sat at this counter. And for her birthday, her mother always brought her here, mostly because that’s where Amy pleaded with her to go. The shake always left her with an ice-cream mustache.