Heads You Lose Read online

  She threw the rope back over to Paul’s side. “But I called,” she said, plainly. “They know I’m here.”

  “Uh, good point.” Paul didn’t do his best thinking in the middle of the night. “Okay … but don’t tell them I’m with Terry. Tell them … I have a new girlfriend up in Tulac.”

  Lacey just gave him a raised eyebrow. It was the middle of the night, they were tying down an illegal load before the cops arrived, and her headless ex lay a few yards away, but some reflexes were automatic under any circumstances. “Hmm,” she said.

  “What!? I could actually have one up there now, for all you know.”

  “You’re right. My bad.”

  “What about your arm?” Paul said, pointing at the bloody bandage peeking out from the sleeve of her new baseball jersey.

  “I’ll think of something.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Paul said. “Just stay calm.”

  “I am calm. You have to go now.”

  Paul took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “We’ll get through this.”

  He got in the truck, took off down the hill, and turned away from town. He didn’t know where he was going, but he didn’t want to pass a sheriff’s cruiser on the way.

  Lacey sat on the porch swing for a while, not rocking, just thinking about how this could have happened. Back in high school, all Hart seemed to need was to make her laugh. He used to do impressions of anyone in town on command. Terry Jakes was her favorite, followed by Sheriff Ed and Paul. For the past few months, every time she went to town, she expected to run into Hart. Half hoping, sometimes. Now that would never happen. After a while, she got up, went inside, and put a sweatshirt on to hide her wound.

  “Not so lucky after all, I guess,” said Doug the deputy, leaning as close as he could to the body’s crude clover tattoo.

  “Jesus, Doug, Hart’s dead,” Lacey said. “You knew him.”

  It had been well after four by the time he’d arrived, giving Lacey a solid half-hour alone with Hart. After Doug had taped off the crime scene, she’d told him the basics—how she knew it was Hart (the tattoo), but didn’t know what he was up to lately. She hadn’t seen him since spring.

  She figured she’d probably have to repeat the story later to Ed or some other higher-up. Hopefully that would be the end of it. She went with the truth.

  “Sorry. I’m not exactly used to this kind of thing,” said Doug, who had already demonstrated that fact with some vigorous barfing around the side of the house as soon as he’d come within smelling distance of the body.

  “So, who gets called in for a thing like this?” Lacey asked.

  “Everybody, I guess,” said Doug. “Ed should be here any minute. The crime-scene guy is coming down from Orendale.”

  Lacey guessed that Sheriff Ed had instructed Doug to not fuck anything up, and above all not to touch the body. He’d succeeded on the second count, at least.

  “Where’s your brother?” Doug asked.

  “Up in Tulac. At his new girlfriend’s place.”

  “How about that!” Doug said. “Good for him.”

  Later, Lacey watched from the porch swing as Sheriff Ed finally showed up, just beating the sun. He gave her a sad little wave from across the yard, then went about checking out the body and its surroundings. Deputy Doug handed Ed his notepad and the sheriff proceeded to ask Lacey all the questions over again and a few more. Doug didn’t seem to notice that his work was being redone. He pulled out another notebook and copied down the sheriff’s interview verbatim. Lacey wondered why the sheriff had even allowed Doug to be first on the scene.

  She knew Hart had some history with Sheriff Ed, and what Hart had told her about it was probably the tip of an ugly iceberg. With Hart, that was usually the case.

  “Lacey,” he said, with an empathetic look as he approached the porch.

  “Nice of you to join us, Sheriff,” Lacey said as he walked up the steps. She’d had enough of recent events.

  Ed ignored the barb. “Where’s Paul?” he asked.

  “New girlfriend.”

  The sheriff raised his eyebrows a bit. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “Lacey, I have to ask you to come down to the office this afternoon. Just a formality. Until then, you look like you could use some sleep. Will you be okay till Paul gets back?”

  “Sure,” she said. She planned to stay on the swing until they left.

  The crime-scene guy had arrived, and was now taking photos and samples. He seemed just as interested in the tire tracks as the bodies. Maybe Doug had blundered after all—it looked like he was getting chewed out for driving right up to the scene. Paul, for all his supposed level-headedness, had peeled away with their plants, leaving another, even fresher set of tracks that would be easy to match, even for Mercer’s finest. Maybe this would escape their attention—they hadn’t exactly been meticulous so far. No one had asked where her car was, for example.

  Finally, the crime-scene guy wrapped up the body and he and Doug carried it to the cruiser. Maybe now it would stop following her around, Lacey thought. She had to remind herself that it was Hart.

  Doug came up to the porch to say good-bye. “Lace, it was good seeing you. I’m so sorry for all this. I hope you know we’ll find whoever did this.”

  He looked like he wanted to give her a hug but glanced back at Ed over by the cruiser and reconsidered. Instead, he reached for her hand and gave it a tender shake.

  Then Doug looked at his palm. There was a little smear of blood on it. Lacey gave him a pleading look.

  “Irving had a fight with a feral. I tried to separate them and I got clawed,” said Lacey, pulling up her sleeve to show him the bandage, from which a rivulet of blood had meandered down her forearm. She must have agitated the wound loading the truck with Paul. “I swear, Doug.”

  Doug gave her a long, queasy look as if he was about to throw up again. Then he composed himself. “Next time, use a hose,” he said. “Oldfashioned, but it works.” He wiped his palm on the inside of his jacket and walked out to the cruiser. After Doug left, Lacey rolled a joint and sucked it down. Then she went back to bed.

  Paul turned off the road onto the dirt driveway of Terry’s place. He hated doing this without asking permission first, but what could he do? Terry was probably still at the fire tower, out of cell phone range, and even if he wasn’t, Paul wasn’t about to make a call. He’d seen way too many guys get triangulated on ThugTracers.11

  And besides, Terry had just called in all the favors Paul owed. So he didn’t owe Terry anything. He knew there was space in one of Terry’s grow rooms, and the security here, for anyone who didn’t know all the combinations like Paul did, was impeccable. As long as no one came poking around while Paul unloaded, he’d be fine.

  It took Paul a half-hour to carry in his plants, set them all up under the lights, and water them by hand. They’d be fine for a while.

  As mad as Paul was about his sister’s decision to call the cops without consulting him, he wasn’t surprised—it was typical impulsive behavior for Lacey. And it hadn’t really made things worse. The return of the body made things about as bad as they could get, short of actually implicating them in the murder. What were they going to do, move the body again and wait for the killers to move it back? As to why the killers would want to involve the Hansens, Paul was at a loss. Did someone hate Hart so much that they wanted to hurt the woman he loved—even after he was dead? Or was someone getting back at both Hart and Lacey?

  The truck bed was empty now except for the tarp and a tire jack. Paul hesitated for a second, then decided not to leave it with his plants. He folded it up and put the tire jack on top of it. When he got into the truck, he felt Darryl’s watch in his back pocket as he sat down in the driver’s seat. The truth was, he’d made his own rash decision to remove the watch—it was instinctive, and maybe dumb. There was only one way to find out.

  On the way to Darryl’s, he thought about his alibi for the night. What Lacey didn’t realize wa
s that if the cops questioned him, there was a woman in Tulac who’d vouch for him. But hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. There were some things he wanted to keep to himself.

  This time he parked right out front of Darryl’s and went straight up to the door. Darryl answered the knock in a few seconds.

  “We need to talk,” Darryl said immediately as he opened the door, and gestured him into the house.

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Paul said.

  They walked through the carpeted living room and into the bright kitchen. It was a distinctly parental home out of a nineties sitcom. Despite Darryl’s relative success, he still lived like a teenager. His stepmom cooked all the meals and kept up the house. There was an actual list of chores on the fridge. She was apparently out with her new boyfriend.

  They sat at the table. Darryl went first.

  “So. You don’t seem too curious to follow up about the so-called prowler you saw,” he said. His voice was shaking a little. “What was up with that? You just happened to be driving by out here? I know we haven’t been on great terms for a while, but if someone was breaking into my house and you noticed it, why not at least scare them off?”

  “I think the real question,” Paul said, “is if you were home, why didn’t you pick up the phone?”

  “Look, man, I’m in full turtle.” It was a phrase of Terry’s that meant maximum retreat.

  “That’s funny. Terry’s been turtling pretty hard himself,” Paul said. Darryl gave him a blank look.

  “Listen,” Paul continued, “I have something of yours. I’ll give it to you in exchange for some information.”

  “Keep it, man. I got no information that wants to be shared.”

  Paul put the watch on the table in front of him.

  “Holy shit. Where’d you find that?” Darryl reached for it and Paul snatched it back.

  “Come on,” said Darryl. “Someone stole it out of my truck a few weeks ago.”

  “Tell me the truth, man. Why was Hart Drexel wearing your watch?”

  “Drexel? Fuck. No idea. I haven’t talked to that dude in years. That’s the God’s honest,” Darryl said.

  Paul believed him. He’d seen Darryl lie more than once—it was an occupational hazard they shared—and this was different. Darryl was scared, but he wasn’t lying.

  “There’s a little more to it,” Paul said. “Hart’s dead. Somebody cut off his head and dumped his body on our property. He was wearing your watch. I took it off before the cops came. I’m trying to help you.”

  He held out the watch. Darryl suddenly wasn’t so keen on taking it—or even touching it. Paul put it down on the thick vinyl tablecloth.

  “Jesus,” said Darryl, shaking his head. “What else can possibly … I’m sorry man, uh … thanks.”

  “Okay. Now it’s your turn. Why are you and Terry so freaked out?”

  “Let’s just say I found out some stuff I didn’t mean to find out. As long as I keep it to myself—and certain people know I’m keeping it to myself—I’ll be fine. You gotta believe this: I can’t tell you more without sharing my problem with you. And it sounds like you have your own unrelated shit to deal with. As for Terry, who knows? If he’s in the same boat I am, that’s news to me.”

  “What about Tate?”

  “At the Timberline? Not involved, as far as I know. That dude’s okay with me.”

  It wasn’t much, but Paul was relieved to hear it. He convinced himself he’d gotten all he could get out of Darryl. If he had secrets, Paul didn’t care to hear them. The ball was in the cops’ court now anyway. “Okay,” he said.

  On the way out, Darryl stopped him. “Hey, bro, thanks for what you did for me. Not sure it was the smartest move in the world, but it took balls.” He sounded a little surprised, Paul noticed. “We solid?”

  “Yeah,” said Paul, and gave him a quick dude-hug. “Let’s stay in touch, though. Keep that watch somewhere safe.”

  “I will. If anywhere’s safe,” Darryl said, and closed the door.

  At least now he and Lacey weren’t alone in this, Paul thought as he climbed back into his truck. He was glad to be rid of the watch and he felt good about what he’d done for Darryl, but he still had a distinctly fragrant tarp to get rid of, as well as no idea whether the Tate–Terry business was related to the killing. It was mid-morning now, and Paul wanted to get back home before his absence seemed more suspicious than it already did—not to mention to be there for his sister, who’d just been through the worst night of her life. Then again, she might have been through plenty of worse ones with Hart. Paul was glad he didn’t know.

  On the drive home, Paul’s thoughts turned back to Terry’s drunken babbling up in the fire tower. Maybe the thing about “some heads are gonna roll” was just an unfortunate coincidence? After all, Terry was known to karaoke the Judas Priest song of the same name. But what about the weird Monopoly stuff?12 He’d mentioned “Atlantic” and “Ventnor.” Paul hadn’t played in years but he could visualize the board. What was the other one—the most expensive of the three?

  With a couple of miles to go, it hit him: Marvin Gardens. There was only one Marv in Mercer. And only one Gardens.

  NOTES:

  Lisa,

  Okay, I feel like I just wrote The Brothers Karamazov. In quantity, if not quite in quality. Don’t worry about matching the length of this chapter. I’m fine with splitting everything fifty-fifty even if I’m putting up most of the words.

  Anyway, I think I’ve found a balance between developing the characters and the story. I hope you can step up your game.

  Dave

  Dave,

  For the record, if we were in a word count competition you’d find that we were neck and neck. But who’s counting? Oh wait, I am.

  Lisa: 8702

  Dave: 8394

  If you’re Dostoyevsky, I’m Tolstoy.

  I think we’re making progress and I’ll see what I can do about my “game.”

  Lisa

  P.S. And please, no more with the Monopoly. You keep that up, I might have to give Terry a disease that compromises his mental state. Don’t worry, I’ll pick something that has a cure. Syphilis?

  CHAPTER 9

  Lacey smoked pot only as a sleep aid, but it worked. She crashed for four hours. During that time Paul tried to untangle the fuzzy town conspiracy that he felt certain would eventually surface. He returned home and waited for Lacey to wake up. Lacey woke in a haze, so Paul started with an easy question.

  “Lacey, where’s your car?”

  Lacey looked at her watch. She was supposed to meet the sheriff in twenty minutes.

  “You need to give me a ride,” she said.

  As Paul drove Lacey to the new doc’s office, he didn’t even bother asking why her car was left behind. Instead, he focused on more important matters, like Lacey’s upcoming police interrogation.

  “Just be cool,” Paul cautioned.

  “What does that mean?” Lacey replied.

  “That means don’t tell the sheriff that we found the body three days ago and moved it and then went poking around at the second crime scene and then, when it showed up at the third crime scene, removed evidence.”

  “Oh that,” said Lacey. “Anything else?”

  “You might not want to mention that we’re marijuana growers.”

  “I won’t,” Lacey replied. “But for future reference you’re the grower. Not me. I’m retiring.”

  Paul had come to see marijuana cultivation as a career. Lacey always saw it as temp work, something you did after all other options were exhausted. Besides, there was no temp agency in Mercer.

  “Whatever you need to tell yourself, Lace. We’ll talk more later.”

  “Sure. Right after my police interrogation.”

  “Who do you think did this?” Lacey asked.

  “That’s what I’m trying to sort out,” Sheriff Ed replied.

  “Could it be drug-related?”

  “Could be any number of things,” Ed said, not showin
g his cards.

  “Or personal. Do you know anyone who had a beef with Hart?” Lacey asked.

  “Well, that was one of the questions I was going to ask you.”

  “I didn’t know him as well as I thought,” Lacey replied.

  “Did you know he was making methamphetamine in his basement?” Sheriff Ed asked.

  “No,” Lacey lied. She wasn’t sure whether knowing someone was making meth and not reporting it was a criminal offense.

  “Now how did that slip by a smart girl like you?”

  “I’ve been asking myself that ever since. How did you know?”

  “It’s my job to know what’s going on in this town.”

  “Then how come you never arrested him?” Lacey asked.

  “He cleared out the basement before I had a chance,” Ed replied. Clearly the question had gotten under his skin. Ed had tried to run Hart out of town for years.

  “So somebody snitched on him. Who was it?”

  “Sweetheart, that’s classified information.”

  “Aha, so there was a snitch. I was just guessing,” Lacey said.

  Sheriff Ed looked over the single sheet of legal paper that contained all the information he had on the Hart Drexel murder. He let out a frustrated sigh and tried to take the reins on his runaway interrogation.

  “Did Hart owe anybody money?” the sheriff asked.

  “He owed me a hundred and fifty bucks,” Lacey replied. “But I wouldn’t kill him over that. Do you think he was sleeping with somebody’s wife?”

  The sheriff cleared his throat a few times and turned the question around, “A good investigator doesn’t speculate too soon. Now have you heard rumors about an affair?”

  “I think Hart was seeing someone on the side back when we were together.”

  “Did you ever confront him?”

  “I didn’t make anything of it at the time,” said Lacey.

  “Who was it?”

  “Don’t know. But he used to come home smelling like some kind of flower. If you can find her, she might know something, but I guess that’s not much to go on.”