Switchback Ch15

When Carter left the judge's house he took with him an A4 printed map of Leyton Falls with at least half a dozen locations ringed in red by the judge and annotations added, as well as the judge’s cell phone number which he’d wrote at the bottom of the page. His first stop will be the Ledger’s office, and a chat with a man who could have some very worthwhile information. He turned left off Main Street onto West Street and passed a number of houses on both sides before the commercial part of the street started.

          On his left a jeweller’s and a dog parlour, on his right a bank and hardware store, no name, but most likely the one where Cunningham had come across that Howler kid. Two hardware stores in a small town like this just wouldn’t be feasible. Farther up he came to a dentist’s surgery and then a bar called Dougie’s which advertised secure parking at rear, and until now was the only place that looked open. His dash clock said 15:45, might as well kill fifteen minutes.

          He turned and swept right into the lot and parked in the shade of the building, cut the engine and clicked open his door. A black Trans-Am was the only other vehicle on the lot and was parked near the rear entrance where two men in their early twenties were drinking from small green bottles. Ten yards out he caught the edge of their conversation.

          ‘…about seventeen, maybe eighteen, but really nice titties. I tell ya, I’m gonna get in there before they leave town.’

          ‘What’s her friend like?’

          Carter stepped through the doorway.

          ‘A bit older, thirty maybe, nice firm ass though, ya know, for her age I mean…’

          The bar was dim, the kind of dim you always get after being in bright sunlight. Some seating and tables were to his left scattered around a pool table with a half-played game but no players. The washrooms were on his right, as was the bar which faced a small dancefloor. A juke box played low in the far left corner and was in the final throes of “Achy Breaky Heart” which entertained three women who were all in step as they traversed sideways across the worn floor. Three men in jeans, two in white shirts and one in red check, sat close to the women and clapped to beat. No one else, other than the bartender, probably Dougie, was in the place.

          ‘Afternoon,’ Carter said.

          Dougie, if that was his name, was a slim man, five-ten at best and around two-twenty after a good solid  meal, clean-shaven and tan.

          ‘Hi, there, what’ll it be?’

          ‘Beer, please.’

          ‘Bottle or draught?’

          ‘Bottle.’

          ‘Hey,’ one of the men shouted. ‘Three beers, barkeep.’

          ‘Comin’ right up. There ya go, mister, four bucks.’

          Carter gave him five. ‘Keep it,’ he said.

          He downed half the bottle, the beer was good, it was cold, it was sharp, and hit the spot straight away. The bartender returned with six empty bottles and tossed them into a plastic tub; the noise was loud but didn’t last long. In the bar’s mirror Carter could see the women on the dancefloor doing the same moves as before but only half as fast, and to a song that was telling someone to, “Give him two arms to cling to, and something warm to come to”.

          One of the three men had joined the women and was putting them off their stride. He wasn’t in line with them, just stood before them and copied their moves, or at least tried to. In unison the women turned to face the wall and continued in synchronised steps.

          Carter took another five from his wallet, showed it the bartender and gained another beer, no words said, tip taken. He cleaned-off the first bottle and took a couple of sips from the second then began to twist his ring on his finger. In the mirror the dancefloor faded then ceased to exist, replaced by the view he had five years ago through a bullet-shot windshield. The smells, the sights, the sounds, all there, his partner shouting over the radio, the sirens, the screech of tires, the scent of burning rubber, the flash of guns from the black car in front, more shots hit the windshield, orders on the radio, back-off, back-off, let air-support take over. They headed down an incline, people on the sidewalk, cars parked both sides, all blurred by speed.

          The vision disappeared when more bottles hit the plastic tub and snapped Carter back to the here and now. He blinked and stopped twisting his ring, and as the dancefloor came back he drank most of his second beer and headed for the washroom on his way out.

          The place was white-tiled and spotless, and the smell unusually fresh, partly due to the windows above the urinals being open which also allowed the voices of the two young men outside to be heard.

          ‘Nah, that Cunningham didn’t do it, he’s a coward, always has been.’

          ‘You’re only sayin’ that because he−’

          ‘Don’t bring my brother’s name up when we’re talkin’ about that piece o’ shit.’

          ‘Hey, chill-out man, Jesus.’

          ‘Just don’t, okay?’

          ‘Okay, okay.’

          ‘I’m goin’, see ya later.’

          ‘Hey, Chuck, don’t forget to put a word in for me with that friend of hers, she sounds kinda sweet.’

          The one called Chuck didn’t answer his friend.

          Carter finished and washed in the sink; he guessed most people in town would know about what happened last night, probably to be expected in such a small community. He pushed his hands under an automatic dryer for thirty seconds then reached for the door handle. Someone shouted, a woman screamed, a table went over. He left the washroom to see two of the three men holding the bartender as the third was taking free shots at his head. The women tried to stop the guy with the fists but he pushed them aside and continued to pummel the man.

          Carter walked to the edge of the dancefloor. ‘Let him go, fellas.’

          Everyone but the injured man looked at him.

          ‘Tain’t your fight, mister,’ said fisty, and landed another punch.

          ‘Let him go right now or I’m gonna make it my fight. And that’s your final warning.’

          Fisty took a half dozen steps forward, his head an inch above Carter’s, his face just as close, his breath sour cheese. ‘Why don’t you save y’self a beatin’, little black-boy, and head south where you and your kind belong?’

          Carter turned and walked for the door to hear the sound of laugher as the beating of the bartender started over.

          ‘Hey look, fellas, little black-boy done turned yelluh.’

          More laughter, more punches.

          At the pool table he picked up the eight-ball and the white and turned back to the room to see the women once again try to intervene, but again they were pushed away.

          Carter planted his left foot forward and hurled the white ball straight for the side of fisty’s head but missed. His target had moved to land another punch and the ball only caught him a glancing blow on his right shoulder. Fisty turned, a confused look on his face.

          Carter tossed the eight-ball in the air, caught it. ‘What’s wrong, are you afraid of a little yellow black-boy, now?’

          Fisty had managed to get within three-feet of Carter when the eight-ball hit him centre forehead with a “Nook” sound, which sent him straight to the floor and out the game.

          The second of the three was just as fast but only managed a five-foot gap before Carter had taken a pool cue from the table and swung it at the man’s head. The third man, the slowest and heaviest of the three, stopped dead when he saw his second friend hit the floor. Fisty was on his back, his face in his hands, moaning. Number two landed between the washrooms and the bar, nothing moving except his chest.

          ‘You still have a choice,’ Carter said to the third man

          The man held his hands up. ‘We’re done here,’ he said. 

          ‘Do you have a vehicle outside?’

          He glanced at the open door, nodded. ‘Uh-huh.’

          ‘Then I suggest you pick up your two buddies and get them to hospital before concussion sets in.’

          ‘Sure, okay.’

          Number three helped fisty to his feet and shoved him out the door, he came back and lifted number two over his shoulder and followed. Carter watched him struggle to get them in the Trans-Am and waited at the door until they’d left the parking lot.

          The women were tending to the tender as he walked over. ‘You okay, friend?’

          He looked up. ‘The name’s Dougie, and thanks to you I am.’

          ‘You were outnumbered, the fight wasn’t a fair one. Are you ladies okay?’

          They smiled, moved closer. There wasn’t much scared Carter, but there was something in each of those smiles that did.

          ‘I’m Mary,’ one said.

          ‘I’m Ellie,’ another said.

          ‘And I’m Sue,’ the third said.

          ‘Leave him be, girls, can’t you see the ring?’

          They stepped back, seemed to deflate a little.

          ‘These are my little sisters,’ said Dougie. ‘One of those guys was getting a little too frisky for his own good, so I stepped in, and then…’ Dougie had a split lip, a bruise developing on his right cheek and a bloody and bent nose.

          ‘Were they locals?’ asked Carter.

          ‘No, never seen them before.’

          ‘Probably just passing through. I can’t see them coming back, but be on your guard just in case.’

          ‘The only people pass through here have either been or are on their way fishin’ up at Elijah Lake, and they weren’t dressed like they were fishin’. You see any gear in the truck when they drove away?’

          ‘No, and it wasn’t a truck, it was a black Trans-Am.’

          ‘Sounded like a damn truck, but a Trans-Am sure means they’re not here for the fishin’. Ouch, careful.’

          Sue had soaked a rag and was cleaning her brother’s bloody nose. ‘I think it might be broken, sweetie,’ she said.

          Mary fetched a drink and Ellie fetched pills.

          ‘Drinks are on the house for you, mister,’ said Mary.

          ‘The name’s Harris, Adam Harris. And thank you, but it’s time I was on my way.’

          ‘Well fishin’ sure ain’t the reason you’re in town, Mr Harris. I can tell that just by lookin’ at you, ’said Sue. ‘Are you here on some kinda business?’

          ‘Leave him be, Sue, his business is his business, tain’t none o’ yours. And what Mary said is right, Mr Harris, drinks are on the house whenever you call in.’

          ‘Thanks,’ said Carter.