Chapter 34
Ted
It’s three in the morning when I finally go outside, just behind the stretcher wheeled by two EMTs, bearing the body bag out
to the newly arrived ambulance. Flashing lights in red and blue play across Phelps’s house. The inflatable Santa has, at some
point in the night, become a puddle of material on the ground. Hopefully Phelps will patch up the hole. It was a good Santa.
Beyond our chaotic circle, the world is black and quiet. Our audience, waiting with bated breath to see the end.
Pah. What am I saying? Our only audience is a damn cornfield.
It’s not like I haven’t been around death before. I was shot in the leg once in my early dealing days. A friend of mine caught
the second bullet in the face. He was dead within minutes. Smart guy too—he was the state spelling bee champion in eighth
grade. I remember leaning over him, stunned with pain from my own leg, stupidly saying, “Joey? Joey?” over and over, as if
by saying his name I could call him back. Not my favorite memory. I may not have given a shit about Jennifer Bernanke in life.
Still, being this close to murder isn’t the vibe, and a black mood threatens me.
Will is already outside, along with some of the others, lining the walkway as Jenn—or the bag that presumably contains her—is wheeled past. The wheels squeak.
Beyond the ambulance, at least four Michigan City police cars are parked, one with its lights still flashing—the one with Doug in the back.
I wonder if he can see the stretcher from where he’s sitting.
As the night has progressed, more and more emergency personnel have shown up. I haven’t been around this much law enforcement
since I was in jail. Two detectives, in addition to Officers Avery and Jones. A guy who appears to be their boss. The ambulance
crew. Forensics people. Other people who never bothered to introduce themselves, just walked around looking serious and official.
Dear God, we’ve probably emptied out Michigan City’s entire night shift onto this lonely piece of property.
If a group of crows is a murder and a group of fish is a school, what’s a group of law enforcement officers? A panic, I decide with a dark little chuckle.
I light up a cigarette and watch as they transfer the body bag into the back of the ambulance and shut the doors. Will is
now conferencing with one of the ambulance operators. Educating himself on what one has to do to claim a corpse, I imagine,
especially a murdered one. Hell if I know.
“Smoking’s not good for your health,” says Officer Jones, joining me from the side with her arms crossed over her coat. I’ve
been so consumed in the scene before me, I didn’t even notice her approaching.
“Neither is murder,” I say. She doesn’t laugh. Good, because for once I wasn’t trying to be funny.
“We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions, Mr. Kristos,” she says.
“Excellent.” I take comfort in the casual sound of my own voice. “And I’ll be in touch if I have any more questions.” When the dark moods come, it helps to appear unfazed. Above it all. Then, you can kind of trick
yourself into believing what other people see.
“I’m sure you will,” says Jones with a lifted eyebrow.
“Hey, Officer . . .” I exhale a cloud of smoke to the side before facing Jones again. I’m glad she stopped by one more time.
I like to think she was inexplicably drawn to me. She’s the kind of woman I might have approached at a bar, under different
circumstances, and it’s pleasant to think the feeling might be mutual. “If Doug didn’t actually do it—what happens then? Just curious. Procedurally speaking.”
“What exactly are you getting at, Mr. Kristos? Speak plainly. It’s late.”
I give her a half grin.
I could tell her I think they got the wrong guy.
But that would be unsportsmanlike. After all, however cute she is, it’s us against them. I don’t make the rules. Neither do
they, in all fairness. They’re merely the enforcers. The umpires in the war between the rule of self and the rule of law.
“Just idle talk, I suppose,” I say. The buzz of flirting is quickly fading. We’re like pawns crossing on a chessboard, Officer
Jones and I. Opposing colors, momentarily side by side. Not in attack position, at least not on this round. But next time . . .
Officer Jones gives me one last look. “Have a good night, Mr. Kristos. And if I ever happen to pull you over in town, I will
be searching your car.”
“Duly noted.” I add an ironic salute.
On the front stoop, Phelps is just pulling out of a hug with Bunny. Our brave host looks at least ten years older than he
did at the beginning of the night. I flick ash off the tip of my cigarette and feel the dark mood again, flickering at the
corners of my vision like a hungry shadow, waiting to pounce.
Bunny is the first to drive away. Bennett and Olivia exit the house shortly after, Olivia now in sweats instead of the sexy
yellow dress. I watch them conference with Phelps.
I’d give an arm and a leg to hear that conversation.
It goes on for quite a long time, so I light a second cigarette.
Phelps does a lot of running his hand through his hair.
Bennett’s arms remain crossed over his chest, as do Olivia’s.
Finally, Olivia gives Phelps a stiff nod.
Then she and Bennett spend some time talking with Will.
Bennett thumps Will’s shoulder, and Olivia kisses him on the cheek.
Olivia and Bennett drive away. It’s satisfying, like watching the conclusion of the play, if the play was a silent movie without subtitles and you had no idea what the fuck was actually happening.
As Will walks to his car, I shout, “Hey, man! You’re not driving back to Indy tonight, are you?”
“I am,” he shouts back. Then he ducks into his car.
Phelps hugs Hellie on the front stoop for quite a while. I watch her head nodding, then pausing, then nodding again in his
embrace. She drives away after that with a small wave in my direction, which I reciprocate. Then Phelps goes back inside and
Allie emerges, her cute dress now concealed by a heavy coat. She makes it halfway down the walk, then stops and gets busy
on her phone.
The ambulance is just pulling away.
“Hey!” I call, beckoning Allie over. “Breaking the story to TikTok?”
“Texting a friend.”
“Want a smoke before you split?”
She hesitates. “Actually . . . why not.”
She walks over, her heels striking like little mallets against the cement. I light her cigarette with the dying stub of mine.
She inhales slowly, eyes closed, her cheeks hollowing. An aggressive suck, on the scale of sucks.
“So . . . not the kind of party you probably expected,” I offer.
She snorts, smoke billowing from her nostrils.
Time for my shot in the dark. Because, c’mon, here’s the outsider who had no reason to be here, and she just happens to join the group on the night of a murder.
And maybe it’s just the chaos of the universe at work.
But what can I say? It feels soothing to imagine there’s an actual reason for her presence.
That she wasn’t just some side character whose name no one will remember.
“Doug Pfluger isn’t a stellar person,” I say as I light up another for myself. “So I don’t think anyone has to feel bad about the fact that he’s getting put away for this.”
Allie looks straight at me.
“Do you . . . know what I mean?” I give her a significant look, on the scale of looks. Then I wait for a telltale flicker
of emotion, but her face might as well be stone.
Well, it’s not like I was sure of anything. It was just amusing, if she had done it, to let her know I was a tiny bit onto her. Of course, if she felt I was onto her for real . . . would she murder
me next?
“You have nothing to worry about from me,” I add. Might as well cover my ass. “My interest in justice is minimal, to say the
least. My interest is purely intellectual. Hey—did you ever read Encyclopedia Brown as a kid?”
“Ted,” says Allie, pursing her lips. “Half the time, I literally have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Fair, fair. In that case, what’s next for you and Phelps? My guess is, you won’t be answering his texts?” I blow out a stream
of smoke and address the sky. “If he’s persistent, you might eventually tell him you met someone new. Tactfully. One of your
younger, cuter friends. Say, a Jason. Or . . . a Bridget? It won’t be hard for him to move on though. So don’t worry.” I glance
back at her. “Now, whether or not he realizes he’s been used—”
“What are you getting at?” she says sharply. Oooh, hit a little nerve, have we? She holds her cigarette up like a dart, pinched
between her thumb and index like she might jab it at me.
“I said it all at the dinner table.” I take a long relaxed drag.
Aaaah. The nicotine is finally hitting and I feel pathetically grateful.
In hell, you take what you can get. “Jenn was a crazy bitch. I say, fuck her. It’s too bad Doug is going to rot in jail for it, but on the bright side, maybe this will free Hellie up to find a more deserving partner.
I’d say it worked out just about perfectly. Not justice, exactly, but . . .”
Allie stares at me, her lips slightly parted. I love making girls look at me like that. No one ever expects the drug dealer
to be the smartest one in the room.
I grin. “Hey, you want to get a drink with me sometime?”
“Bye, Ted.” She stomps away from me with no further ceremony, heels clacking, and tosses her cigarette aside. It curves through
the air like a piece of flaming confetti and lands two inches from my foot. She climbs into her car. Slams the door.
I grind her cigarette with the toe of my shoe.
Well, in the end . . . maybe she was just really fucking into Phelps.
I finish my final cigarette just as Phelps comes out, a backpack slung over his shoulder. He clearly thought he was the only
one of us left, because when he notices me standing here in the driveway, he curses.
“You’re still here?” he says. “Go home, man. Go to bed.”
“Where are you going?” I say. “Is there an after-party I don’t know about?”
“My house is a crime scene, Ted. I’ll stay with my ex.”
He doesn’t say which ex, and I don’t ask.
“Well, good times,” I call out as he climbs into his car, which is parked at the end of the driveway.
Phelps’s headlights flick on, momentarily blinding me.
The lights make it feel like I’m the last one onstage, about to speak the very last line of the play we’ve all been part of.
Sadly, I have no idea what the last line should be.
Oh, well. I check my phone for ideas of where to head next, because it isn’t going to be home.
I have a few texts. One from Sarah from about an hour ago.
Sarah is one of my best customers—a forty-five-year-old fitness instructor with a healthy heroin habit.
Huh, looks like a bunch of them are at The Grunge over in La Porte.
Meh, I could stop by . . . shuffleboard table .
. . cheap beer . . . and if Sarah’s feeling frisky, we could do it in the bathroom.
I have a thing for sex in confined spaces, and Sarah has a thing for me.
It’s as good an option as I’m going to get, with the night half-spent.
I start the car, knowing a moment of regret for the flushed drugs.
As Phelps’s house disappears in the rearview mirror, it strikes me that Jenn may have been Michigan City’s first murder of
the year. Maybe the state of Indiana’s first murder. The year 2020 sure has started off with a bang.
At least it can only get better from here.