Dying Truth Page 2

  As he pulled over at a gas station, and after checking the rear of the truck for leaks, he walked inside. Two old-timers sat on stools arguing about what sounded like baseball and nursing black coffees. A young man was stocking a stand of Juicy Fruit and trying to make himself look older with a fuzzy pencil moustache. Cade’s boot kicked up a loose corner of linoleum as he walked in and down an aisle. Shelves groaned with just about every kind of potato chip. The place smelled of strong coffee.

  “Howdy,” he said, West Texas dripping from his lips, and he laid it on thick.

  “Er, hi there,” said the youth.

  “You don’t happen to know where Brandon Collins’s garage is?” Cade asked.

  The young man’s eyes took him in with a brazen once-over. The conversation in the coffee area faded away.

  “Collins? Yeah, I know Brandon’s place.” The youth said with the forced casualness of one who is trying to appear cool. “Over the Weaver Bridge and stay on 93. Take a left on Brook and another after a mile onto Willow. You can’t miss it.”

  “No good takin’ 93 east of the Grey. They’re diggin’ up the intersection of Langdon and Hicks. The detours will send you all the way out round Meers Hill before you get back onto Willow,” piped up one of the old-timers. He was wearing denim overalls and a green cap with a John Deere logo on it. “You’d be better to take a left onto Main Street once you’re across the river, son. Then right onto Willow at the town limits. That’d take you through Crown Heights, too. It’s a good neighborhood.”

  “No, it’s not. Quit living in the past, Bill Moffat,” said his companion. “The Heights ain’t been a good neighborhood since Alford upped and shut the canning factory down.”

  “Main Street ain’t much better these days, Bert,” countered Bill Moffat. “More stores boarded up than open. Problem these days is too much changing too fast. Putting good folks out of business.”

  “That’s not why they’re out of business, and you know it. You know the reason even if you ain’t brave enough to say it out loud.”

  Again the policeman came out. “What’s that?” Cade asked.

  The first old-timer looked at him sideways and buried his face in his coffee mug. “Nothing. Just jawing,” he said.

  “You one of those Greenies, then, son?” asked Bert.

  “What’s that?” Cade asked.

  “One of those longhairs been hanging around the town hall with those signs. Forever protesting, kids today. Never for anything, just against stuff.”

  “Don’ think I qualify as a longhair, sir.” Cade lifted his cap to reveal his crew cut.

  “Guess not,” Bert replied dismissively.

  Cade nodded. His eyes flicked to Bill Moffat, who looked into his own mug as though searching for something in its black depths. Silence.

  “Anyways, ain’t none of my business, I guess,” Cade added. He was talking to himself as much as the two locals. He turned back to the attendant. “What about Riverside Drive?”

  “Take a right off Main Street when you get to the Savings & Loan. It’s down there somewhere. If you find yourself at the intersection of 93, you’ve passed it.”

  Cade bought some gum in an effort to dispel the sour taste that he got whenever he ran his tongue around his mouth and walked back to the truck. His mood had lifted. Even on the outskirts of town, it was peaceful. Saturday morning and there didn’t seem to be that many cars on the road. Birdsong was louder than the traffic. He wished that maybe he could stay for a while. Let himself settle and see if he took root.

  As he got back into the truck, the smell of gas was even more noticeable. He patted the wheel.

  “You got me this far, girl. Can’t rightly blame you.”

  He got back on the road and within a few yards passed a sign which read Welcome to Burford, Flint County. We’re glad to meet you. Around a bend in the road, the outskirts were left behind. The town wrapped around him. He passed a white-painted fire station, outside of which a group of men in heavy-duty jeans used fire hoses to wash cars. Hand-printed signs proclaimed all proceeds for Burford Elementary. Timber buildings were painted in whites and browns. He passed a bait shop alongside a bookshop and a florist. Cade saw one Starbucks amid the businesses with family names on their signage, followed by four bars in quick succession.

  The Weaver Bridge was a square box of metal girders, painted green. A group of boys sat perched on one side with fishing poles, legs poking out between the metal struts. As he took the turn off the highway onto Main Street, he saw what the old-timers had referred to. In the heart of the town, every other business appeared boarded up. He was used to seeing vacant lots and entire strips of failed enterprises, but he’d expected to see that in Sunnyside, Houston. Places where drugs and gangs prowled, and ordinary people kept their heads down.

  His phone buzzed. Rissa.

  “Howdy, Rissa.”

  “Hi, Tommy. How you doing?” Rissa was, as usual, sunny.

  “Better out of the city.” Cade was taciturn. Also as usual.

  “Well, whatever helps. Are you still out west somewhere?”

  “No, north. Beth invited me to come and stay.”

  Silence for a moment. “Oh my…Beth? Your sister? Wow, that’s great, Tommy,” she enthused.

  “You think?”

  “Of course it is. Do you have any idea how lucky you are to have family when you need them? Take it from me, it’s tough when you’re on your own.”

  “Come on, Riss. You’re never on your own.”

  “I am so. I don’t have any family. Just friends like you who up and disappear on me at a moment’s notice.”

  “Sure sucks to be you.”

  “Can’t believe the attitude after everything I’ve done for you. I’m serious, bucko. Don’t give me any BS. I’m just saying, don’t take your family for granted, that’s all.”

  “I know. It’s a surprise to me, too. I didn’t think I would say yes, let alone go through with it once I had. I still don’t.”

  “Well, you can’t back out. Where are you now?”

  “A place called Burford, New Hampshire. This is where she lives.”

  “Well, just don’t blow it, Tommy. The craggy cowboy act doesn’t go down so well with New Englanders.”

  “That a fact?”

  “Yeah, that is a fact.” Tart but with a shadow of a smile behind it.

  “So what are you up to these days?”

  “Boring stuff. Covering a few features shifts for the Chronicle. Nothing exciting. Missing you being on the force.”

  “Too bad.”

  Cade was slowing for lights as a cop emerged from a store opposite him, carrying two crowded paper bags. His cruiser was parked outside the store. As he walked toward it, he saw Cade and stopped.

  “Hey there!” he called out. “Better put that cell phone down before you pull away from those lights, friend.” The jovial tone contrasted with hard eyes. Rissa cackled and Cade grimaced.

  “Got to go. I’m about to get written up,” he told her and hung up the call, tossing the phone down onto the passenger seat.

  The cop was black and looked to be in his mid-twenties, though his round-cheeked face took at least five years off his age.

  “Sorry about that, officer. I didn’t realize y’all didn’t allow that here,” Cade called out to him.

  The lights changed and someone behind him honked.

  “Wait,” the cop barked to the impatient driver. He put his groceries on the ground and took out his notebook.

  At that moment, a young man crashed out the door of a poolroom above a bar across the street. He backed out of the door, shouting something back inside as he went. In his late twenties with lank, greasy, dark hair that fell to his collar, he had an untidy growth of stubble. He caught himself on the edge of the fire escape that led to the poolroom entrance and clattered down the metal steps, laughing to himself.

  “Wait there,” the cop ordered Cade and crossed the street toward the young drunk.

  “Hey, N
ate. Don’t bother. Don’t you see that’s Bobby D? Come on, leave it alone, will ya,” came a voice from the patrol car.

  Another cop sat in the passenger seat, smoking a cigarette out of the window as he waited. He was older and bulkier than his partner, with white hair. The young man, Bobby D, caught sight of the cop, who had stopped just in front of Cade’s truck. The honking behind got angrier. Cade ignored it. He watched Bobby D swagger to the edge of the sidewalk and then make a crude gesture toward the cop before laughing as he walked away. Nate glared back at his partner, who had joined in the honking.

  “Come on, man. Are you crazy or something? Let’s go.”

  Cade crossed his hands on the steering wheel and waited. He caught Nate’s eye for the second time and recognized the pure frustration in his face.

  “Right. Pull over to the sidewalk, buddy,” Nate snapped.

  “Look, officer, I’m from out of state, and—”

  “I know you’re from out of state. That doesn’t excuse breaking the law.”

  “I was barely moving—”

  “Pull over, please. You’re causing an obstruction.”

  Cade growled. He knew the score. The cop had been embarrassed in public by some untouchable hoodlum, so now Cade would catch it hot for talking on the phone whilst driving. He told himself to be humble.

  After he had pulled over and switched off the engine, Nate appeared at his window.

  “License and registration, please.”

  Cade handed them over. He wanted to ask about the young drunk, but instinct stopped him.

  “Texas? Long way from home. You working at Shell’s Ridge?”

  “No. I’m here visiting family.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “Beth Collins. She’s my sister.”

  The cop looked at him sharply. “Brandon never mentioned Beth had a brother from Texas.”

  “Well, Brandon has a wife from Texas, son.” Cade’s humility went out the window.

  Nate nodded, not rising to the annoyance. “She hides it well. Always thought she was from the Midwest or something.”

  “She ain’t. Are we done here? I got a mighty smell of gas coming from somewhere in this heap of junk, and I’d like to get to a garage while there’s still somewhere open.”

  “No. We ain’t done here.” Nate put on a terrible imitation of a Texas drawl. “This is a small town, and we have safe roads. State law says it’s illegal to hold a handset while driving. I will not write you up this time because I’m a friend of Brandon Collins, too. But I will if I see it again.”

  Cade’s temper strained on a leash, and he forced his lips to lift.

  “I do appreciate that, officer. That’s good of you. I was heading for Brandon’s garage. Am I on the right road?”

  “Yeah, just turn right at the intersection here and then left after three blocks onto Jefferson Street. It’s a back road, but it’s more direct for you than following Main Street.”

  Cade nodded and pulled away, leaving Nate to collect his groceries. He noted the look he drew from Nate’s partner as he passed.

  “You’re not a cop anymore, Tommy. Mind your own business,” he muttered.

  3

  He pulled into Collins Autos fifteen minutes later. It was a simple one-story wooden building with open double doors at one end letting into a workshop. At the other end of the building was a glass door, rendered opaque by a proliferation of advertisements for various auto parts. As he pulled up in front, he saw an empty reception area through one window. There was music coming from the shop area—Springsteen. A pair of legs were sticking out from under a beat-up blue Chevy Impala.

  “Hey there,” Cade called. “I could use some help.” He pushed his voice out of its usual rumbling register and attempted a neutral accent.

  “Sorry, bud. Half-day closing today and just me on. If you want to leave it with me, I may be able to look at it tomorrow.”

  “Goddamn! I’m only asking you to take a look and tell me how much it’s going to cost me to fix. I passed three other auto shops on the way here. I can go elsewhere if you prefer. People told me to come to you, but I guess I shouldn’t have listened.” He affected a tone of bewildered offense.

  “Son of a bitch,” the mechanic muttered, not quite under his breath enough.

  He rolled himself out and got up, swiping up a rag from the concrete floor next to him.

  “Now, look. I’m being more than fair when—” He stopped as he got a good look at Cade’s face. “Well, I’ll be a son of a gun,” he exclaimed and then put out his hand as he strode across the shop. Cade took it with a grin.

  “How you doing, Brandon? You look surprised.”

  “Yeah, I’m surprised. We didn’t expect you for another two days. Beth is going to be mad. She hasn’t got the house ready yet.”

  Cade waved it away. “Beth wouldn’t be happy if she had a week to get ready.”

  “Takes after her mom. That’s what she tells me. Every time she has to remind me to put the seat down.” Brandon chuckled. Cade remembered the laugh. That was what everyone remembered of Brandon Collins.

  “Hey, I really do need some help with the truck, though. If you can spare the time?"

  “Sure, sure. Is that yours? The F-Series? Beth said you’d still be driving the same old…”

  “Same old piece of crap? Well, it got me here,” Cade countered.

  “Hey, preaching to the converted, buddy. Those F-Series are the best thing Ford ever made, if you ask me. Beth’s always been a Buick gal. Look, come into the office and fix yourself a coffee. I need to finish up with the Impala, then I’ll take a look. Have you been to the house yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Maddie will jump with excitement. All she’s talked about for the last month is her cowboy uncle.”

  Cade felt a pang of tension. Could he even remember how to be around a small child again?

  Brandon walked him around to the office. They talked about inconsequential things for a few minutes, and then Brandon got up. He winced as he did so, though he tried to cover it up with a yawn.

  “You okay?” Cade asked. He noticed Brandon’s hand moving to his side, as though he were in some discomfort from his ribs.

  Brandon straightened. “Huh? Oh, no. I think I overdid the workout yesterday. Sprained something. My fault for pretending I’m still eighteen, right?” He waved it off.

  “Uh-huh.” Cade was non-noncommittal. Cop senses were firing again. He knew when a guy was trying to cover up bruises. “Got to watch that. Can’t afford to be sick when you’re self-employed, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m a real hard-ass of a boss, as well.” Brandon laughed, and now that he knew what to look for, Cade saw the slight catch as he took too deep a breath.

  Another car pulled into the garage’s parking lot. Where he sat, Cade had his back to the window, but Brandon saw it. The smile slipped from his face before he could slap it back into place. Anyone else would have missed it. Cade turned casually. It was an F-Series, just like his own, but about twenty-five years younger. The windows were heavily tinted, and the bodywork gleamed.

  “Um, look, Tommy. I’m not sure how long I’m going to be, so why don’t you take my car over to the house and have breakfast with Beth and Maddie? Beth does pancakes on Saturdays. Have you eaten yet? I’ll head over as soon as I can.”

  Cade heard truck doors open and close, though no one came through the reception door. Whoever was in the truck must have headed to the shop.

  “Is that okay? I might be a couple of hours. TV’s busted, so it wouldn’t be fair for you to be sitting around here. Do you know how to get to the house from here?”

  Before Cade could answer, the inner door to the shop opened and a big guy stepped through. He wore a jacket over an untucked shirt and Cade wondered what the jacket was for. Most people he had seen weren’t wearing one. The guy was bald and had the bulkiness of hard fat.

  “Hey, there you are, Brandon, my man. You wanna step into the shop? Jim
my’s waiting to talk to you about his truck.” His accent was broad New England.

  “Hey, Dom, yeah, I saw you guys come in. I’ll be right there.”

  Cade stood, drawing a lazy look from the big guy. Cade returned it flatly. The guy looked him up and down before resting two meaty hands on the counter.

  “Well, we’re talking a big job here. I’m sure this guy won’t mind waiting. Jimmy’s an important client. Am I right?” His smile was a movement of lips only.

  “Sure, Dom, I know,” Brandon said.

  He dug into a pocket of his overalls and took out a set of keys.

  “Here, Tommy. It’s the white Buick.” He tossed the keys toward Cade. “Hey, this guy always buys American. Ain’t that right, Tommy.”

  As Brandon let himself through a hatch in the counter, Dom slapped a thick arm around his shoulders. Cade stood up and tossed the keys back to Brandon.

  “It’s okay, Brandon. I’ll just wait here ’til you’re done. I never could take directions well, anyway.” He walked to the counter, picking up a magazine. “My lieutenant was always on my back about it,” he said conversationally, looking at Dom.

  “Lieutenant? You a soldier or something?”

  “No, this is Tommy, my brother-in-law. He’s a cop,” Brandon volunteered.

  Dom took his arm from around Brandon’s shoulders and took a casual step back.

  “Cop?”

  One word and Cade knew the guy was a con. He didn’t smile but held Dom’s gaze.

  “Yep.”

  The door to the shop opened again and a thin guy in a flannel shirt and a hunting vest came in. He had a goatee, with the face of a rodent, and chewed gum noisily.

  “Hey, Dom. Jimmy’s waiting out here.”

  Cade saw through the shop door as it opened again. Leaning against a workbench, a tall slim man with long straight hair hanging over his shoulders stared back. As the door swung shut, another man sauntered into view from outside. It was the all-night pool player from earlier. The one the cop had named as Bobby D.