Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [28]
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.