Resolution: Evan Warner Book 1 Read online

  She shook her head. “Nope. It’s my bad for leaving the car unlocked. But still, they just took him. Can you believe that crap?”

  I didn’t answer. I believed it, all right. Just didn’t like hearing it.

  “But,” she resumed, “I’ll get him back. I just raised the reward again. Five grand, no questions asked. I just keep telling myself that it’ll work. Sooner or later he’ll be back home where he belongs.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Two weeks ago Friday night. Two miserable weeks.”

  “Sorry,” I said. And I genuinely meant it. I’d be inconsolable if something happened to Frank. Then I’d do terrible things. Maybe burn whole cities to find out who took him. And when I did find them, I’d make them very, very sorry. Years later, psychology students would read all about me and struggle to fathom the depths of my wrath. Generals would marvel at the destruction unleashed by a lone man. They’d study me right after Alexander of Macedon.

  “It just takes money,” the girl said next. “You know, that’s what everything’s about.”

  I didn’t respond to that. My guess was that she was using a positive attitude to keep from falling into despair. The new flyer she’d posted had $5000.00 scrolled in bold font below Simon’s picture. No questions asked. Even if she was kidding herself about finding him, she wasn’t kidding around with the reward. Plenty of people work for a month for less than five grand.

  “Bastards,” she snapped under her breath, and her voice sort of shook. She wiped her eye with the back of her hand. Then took a deep breath and gathered her composure.

  “Hang in there,” I said. Didn’t know what else to say.

  “It makes me so mad, you know? How could someone steal a dog like that? How much is he really worth?”

  I looked at her and wondered what else I was missing. It certainly wasn’t a standard lost dog scenario.

  “I know who has him,” she said quietly, as if sharing a big secret. “Like, almost a hundred percent certain.”

  “Seriously?”

  She nodded vigorously. Her face brightened. She seemed energized.

  “You know who took your dog, and you’re here hanging up flyers?”

  She kept on nodding.

  “How do you know?”

  “Everyone knows who steals dogs around here.”

  “I don’t.”

  She paused a beat. “You’re really interested?”

  “I’m still here.”

  She made a face, like a lightbulb had just flicked on in her head.

  “Let’s go outside where it’s quieter. I’ll fill you in, if you really want to know.”

  “Why not,” I said.

  We started out the big sliding doors. She was walking fast. Fast enough that I had to pick up my pace to keep stride with her. I could sense the tension in her. Tension and energy. Nerves and frustration and optimism, all jumbled together.

  “Where are you parked?” she asked.

  “Way over by the auto entrance.”

  She didn’t break stride.

  “I’m not going over there where there’s no people around. No offense. You seem nice. But I’m not ending up in someone’s basement freezer.”

  I said, “How do I know I won’t end up in your freezer?”

  She laughed. “How on earth could I carry you there?”

  “Maybe you’ve got help waiting.”

  “Nah, it’s just me. And at home it’s just my dad. And we don’t even have a basement freezer, to be honest.”

  I didn’t follow up on the statement regarding her dad. Wasn’t my business.

  We hadn’t gone far when she slowed down near the back of a little red car. A Nissan Z. Maybe a year or two old. There was a heart-shaped sticker in the back window with MY DOG within the heart.

  “See any help in there?” she asked.

  I shook my head. Got out my smokes. Her eyes went right to them.

  “Want one?”

  “I try to stay away from bad habits.”

  “They’re definitely bad,” I said as I shook one loose.

  “You know, at this point, I don’t even care.”

  “Your call.”

  She took one and her eyes came up to mine. I figured she was going to ask for a light, but instead she asked, “Are you wearing kitchen gloves?”

  I didn’t answer. Just flicked my Zippo and lit my cigarette. Then held the flame out for her.

  She lit her cigarette and asked, “Are you OCD?”

  “I’m Evan.”

  “I’m Kendra.”

  I closed my lighter and slid it back in my pocket.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Kendra, by any chance have you seen the movie What About Bob??”

  “Oh, no.”

  “It’s great for a laugh. You should watch it.”

  “I have seen it. Way too many times. My dad loves that movie. Laughs like a crazy person every time.”

  “Well, then, you’ll know what I mean when I say I don’t want to end up being a total wreck, like Bob. Germs are in fact real, and I really prefer avoiding them.”

  Her face was blank. She had no clue what to think of me.

  “Ever heard of Ebola?” I said. “Or all the weird strains of flu floating around?”

  “How many people actually catch those?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m not taking any chances. The gloves are an easy barrier and cheap peace of mind. So even if it looks funny, if you think about it, it’s actually a very sane choice for me to wear them.”

  “Do you wear them at home?”

  “No need. Everything’s clean.”

  “But you just touched your lighter with the gloves. How do you deal with that?”

  “I’ve got a whole system worked out. Trust me.”

  “So public bathrooms must be way out of the question.”

  “Won’t go within ten feet of one.”

  “Guess I can’t blame you there.”

  I nodded firmly.

  She shook her head, smiling thinly, and said nothing. She leaned against the back of her car. Looked away and took a long breath. Her shoulders rose way up. Then fell way down again. The brief moment of levity had passed as quickly as it had come.

  I said, “Who took Simon?”

  “Two guys from Franklin, I’m pretty sure.”

  “I need more than that.”

  She looked at me. “You’re seriously interested?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m not being conceited here, but I’m not looking to get together with anyone.”

  “You suggesting I’m some sort of whore? Think I just give all this away for free?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I’m interested,” I said, seriously.

  “Okay,” she said. “That’s cool. I’m just kind of surprised, that’s all. Most people are sympathetic about Simon and say they’re sorry. But that’s where it ends.”

  “Like you said, I’m a dog person.”

  She nodded and asked, “Ever been to Neil’s Lounge?”

  I hadn’t. I’d driven past it plenty but never stopped by.

  “It’s nice,” she said. “Not a dive bar or anything.”

  “I don’t really drink.”

  “We have good food too. Nice clean kitchen.” She smiled briefly. “Everyone washes their hands and wears gloves in the kitchen.”

  “That’s where you work?”

  “I tend bar mostly. Wait a few tables. Been there about three years now. You know how people talk when they get to drinking, right?”

  “Talk. Argue. Scream. Fight. Raise hell.”

  She shook her head.

  “Start riots at sporting events.”

  “Not at Neil’s. It’s a mellow atmosphere. Our customers are cool. And if they’re not, they get tossed. That’s it. Neil doesn’t put up with any nonsense.”

  I nodded. Neil sounded like a sensible guy.

  “We have a lot of regulars,” Kendra resumed. “Well, there�
��s one guy, Tim. You know, T&G Plumbing?”

  I didn’t know. She didn’t yet realize that I was basically a hermit.

  “Tim and Gordon are best friends,” she explained. “Have been forever, I guess. Been working together for years. You’ll see their big box van around.”

  “Haven’t noticed,” I said. “I don’t get out much.”

  “Anyway, Tim’s a cool guy. Loves to talk. He’s one of those guys that knows practically everyone. Well, once I started asking around, a few different people told me who might’ve taken Simon. But I really believed it when I heard it from Tim.”

  “How does he know for sure?”

  “He grew up in Franklin. And he’s heard of several people keeping fighting dogs in the area. The guys in Franklin are the most obvious. They’re always looking for new dogs to trade and sell. Some to use for bait in practice fights.”

  “So that shit actually goes on around here?”

  She shrugged. “Apparently.”

  It was the wrong day for me to hear that. I was in the wrong mood. My mind started to speed up. My surroundings began to feel far away, as they always do when I get intensely focused on a matter. In a few seconds I’d gone well beyond feeling sympathetic towards this girl and her situation. I was seriously pissed off, for her sake and the dog’s. I was envisioning that special sort of lowlife that steals a pet and gets his jollies from watching it fight to the death. The sort that show up on the news from far-away places with much higher populations than little New Hampshire. Nasty, vicious people with no regard for others. No regard for anything other than quick and easy gain. Deviants experiencing pleasure from the pain of others. Complete assholes.

  Evidently the intensity of my thoughts showed through in my expression, because Kendra said, “You okay?”

  I looked at her and my thoughts scattered and I was just standing there by her car, completely present again. She was looking up at me curiously.

  “Just thinking,” I said.

  She nodded slowly. A vague response.

  “About dogs,” I clarified. “I hate the way people abuse them.”

  “You and me too.”

  “I’d like to get my hands on them. Give them a taste of their own medicine.”

  She smiled meekly.

  “Wouldn’t you?” I asked.

  “What could I do?”

  “You might surprise yourself. Anger can be a powerful tool.”

  She didn’t respond to that. Instead she said, “I’ve got a little time to kill before work. Want to go over to Dunkins, sit at the picnic tables? I’ll buy your coffee.”

  I said, “Sure.”

  “You’re not too busy or anything?”

  “Never too busy for coffee.”

  11

  Half a mile up the road I turned right into Dunkin’ Donuts. Found a spot near the back by the picnic tables and parked. Climbed out and opened the slider for Frank. He was always glad to sniff some fresh turf and mark some new territory. I sat at a table. Lit a smoke and watched Frank sniffing around. The light posts lining the lot were coming on for the night, like old lanterns hanging from faux wooden posts. Overhead the sky was pink and purple and slowly darkening.

  Kendra pulled in a few minutes after me. She got out and said she’d stopped to hang a new flyer at the post office. The last one she had to hang was inside Dunkins.

  “No rush,” I said.

  She had a brief introduction to Frank. He was friendly but didn’t take her too seriously. He didn’t know the situation. He assumed she was just some random person saying hello. In a minute she’d be gone.

  “How do you like your coffee?” she asked.

  “Large iced regular. Cream and sugar.”

  “Can I get Frank a plain donut?”

  “He’ll be you’re friend forever if you do.”

  She crossed the small lot and went into the coffee shop. She was walking even faster than she had at Walmart. There was a noticeable spring in her step. She reminded me of a dancer the way she stayed up on her toes. Maybe she felt energized knowing that a complete stranger was interested in her dilemma.

  Or maybe she just really loved coffee. I could relate to that.

  I could see her inside. She hung the flyer and was talking with several people. She was a chatty girl for sure. Well suited for her line of work. There wasn’t much of a line and she got the coffees and was back outside within a few minutes. She walked slower with the coffees, sipping from her hot cup.

  Frank accosted her as soon as she sat down at the table. She smelled like donuts, and he now understood that she wasn’t some random person passing by. She gave him some scratches and spoke baby talk to him. Which he loves. Especially from females. His big tail was going like crazy. Next she gave him the plain donut, which cemented their budding friendship.

  “Are you a dancer or something?” I asked.

  She made a face. “How’d you know?”

  “You walk on your toes. You move easy.”

  “It’s second nature by now. I’ve done ballet since I was little. I help teach the beginner class every Wednesday night up in Laconia. One of these days I’d love to run my own class.”

  “Cool,” I said, to be polite. I didn’t give a hoot about dancing.

  “What about you?” she asked.

  “Not me. I look awful in a tutu.”

  Through a smile she said, “What do you do? It seems like you’re good at cutting to the chase with people.”

  To confirm her point, I said, “Who took your dog, Kendra?”

  “Okay,” she said. She took a long breath and got completely serious. “Obviously I can’t be certain, but I think these guys on Bow Street might have him. They’re the most obvious suspects, according to my friend Tim. It’s well known that they’re into all sorts of bad crap around here. The Bensons. Jared and Seth.”

  “If they’re so well known, why hasn’t anyone stopped them?”

  “Everyone knows that Bow Street is a mess. No one does anything about anything down there.”

  She was right. Bow Street is nearly a mile-long stretch of drugs and poverty and prostitution. Kids having kids. Despair and crime. Because it’s somewhat set apart from the rest of the city, behind the old mill buildings, where many of the workers used to live, it gets forgotten. One of those cases where it’s easier for the rest of a community to just look the other way as much as possible. Avert their eyes until they reach the nicer side of town.

  “I guess the Bensons are tight with one of the Franklin cops,” she said next. “Franklin only has three. That’s all they can afford. From everything I’ve heard, two are straight, the chief and one of the deputy’s. The other one is crooked. He lets a lot slide.”

  I said, “So these Benson guys have a free pass to do whatever.”

  “Basically.”

  “Guess I’ll need to go down there and snoop around.”

  “It’s sketchy down there.”

  “I wouldn’t go if I were you.”

  “I’ve driven by about twenty times. They’ve got beware of dog signs in the crappy yard.”

  “That’s another thing,” I said.

  “What is?”

  “Your car. It stands out. If things get ugly, you don’t want these people knowing who you are.”

  She deflated a little. “I never thought of that. This is a small place.”

  I nodded.

  “I see a lot of the same cars all the time.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Wait,” she said. “Are you saying that you’d seriously go down there and look around for me? For Simon?”

  I shrugged. “Someone has to.”

  She was quiet. Looking at me. Like she didn’t understand me.

  “What?”

  She said, “I’d go. I just ...”

  “It’s no big deal for me,” I said. “I deal with idiots all the time.”

  “Question.”

  “I might have an answer.”

  “Are you military or somethi
ng?”

  I could have had a lot of fun telling her how I couldn’t say too much. My missions were classified. My unit did not officially exist. That sort of thing. But I didn’t. She seemed to have a sense of humor. But she was also going through a rough stretch. No need to bury her in sarcasm.

  I said, “My parents own a big campground. I’m basically a watchdog with thumbs. I deal with the drunks and morons that need to be thrown out. Been doing it since I was sixteen, so I’m used to conflicts and I’ve gotten pretty good at handling them.”

  Kendra looked over at Frank. Then back to me. She exhaled.

  “This is so weird.”

  “What is?”

  “This whole thing. It’s like you came along to answer my prayers. You’ve got to understand, I’m not used to getting much help.”

  I said nothing. I was thinking of Clint in Pale Rider. Just showing up to fix problems, clean up a town. Beat some bullies with an axe handle and then ride off into the sunset.

  “But what else can I do?” Kendra finally said.

  “Keep raising the reward,” I said. “Wait. Be miserable without your dog.”

  “It’s not just me,” she said. “My dad misses him terribly. He’s sort of sick, so he’s home most of the time with Simon. He’s miserable about this. Even more miserable that he can’t do much to help me.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” I spoke the words automatically, before considering if I should ask.

  “Gulf War Syndrome. That’s our best guess. The doctors aren’t even certain because the symptoms are all over the place. Mostly it’s like his immune system has been compromised. The body can’t recover or maintain itself.”

  I said nothing. I’d heard a little about it on the news here and there. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

  “It’s weird,” she said. “He went off to war this tough guy, and within a few years he just wasn’t the same guy anymore. When I look at his old pictures, it’s unbelievable. Supposedly it’s something to do with all the burning oil wells and chemicals and crap they were exposed to. Who knows? All I know is that something real is wrong with him. The older I’ve gotten, the weaker and sicker he’s gotten. He’s got arthritis like an old person. He barely outweighs me now. He used to be over two hundred pounds.”

  I lit another cigarette. Didn’t know what to say. I offered one to Kendra. She thanked me and declined.