Chapter 20 #2
“You know,” Jem said, “an upstanding citizen might start to think he was being harassed.”
Van Cleave made a sound of disgust.
“I thought you’d be interested to know that we caught up with Mr. Shumway,” Trevino said.
“Who?”
“Kazen Shumway. You were in his house the other night.”
“Oh yeah?” Jem grinned at Van Cleave. “You finally caught up to him, huh?”
Van Cleave stone-faced him back.
“He told us that he’d never seen Mr. Lee’s wallet before. He said you came to his house and told him that if he didn’t do whatever you told him, you were going to frame him by telling the police you found Mr. Lee’s wallet in his home.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Trevino didn’t respond.
“What did I want him to do?” Jem asked.
“He said you didn’t tell him, but he thinks you wanted him to confess so that your friend would be off the hook.”
For a moment, Jem wasn’t sure what they meant by that. Tean wasn’t on the hook. And then he laughed. “Ammon? Oh shit, lady, if that’s what you think, you’re in way over your head.”
“You want to watch your mouth?” Van Cleave asked.
“I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s bullshit. It’s not true. Kazen had that wallet. When I found it, he ran.” To Van Cleave, he added, “If you’d caught him that night, he wouldn’t have had time to come up with a bullshit story.”
Van Cleave set his jaw. The little chin puff trembled.
“Mr. Berger, I’d like you to come in for an interview,” Trevino said.
“No.”
“This is important.”
“No.”
“We need to have a conversation about your friend. About Mr. Leon. And this isn’t the place.”
“I don’t know how you got this wild hair about Tean, but you two are out of your fucking minds. He didn’t have anything to do with this. So, unless you’re arresting me, the answer is no. I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m not talking to you. And I think we’re done here.”
From across the showroom, Kristie, perched on top of her four-inch heels, was staring at Jem. She was carrying a little watering can, the one she used on the showroom plants, but she seemed to have forgotten it—it tilted in her hand, and water splashed on the vinyl flooring.
“What do you got there?” Van Cleave asked suddenly.
“What?”
“That looks like a weapon,” Van Cleave said.
“Hold on, I’m not carrying anything—”
But before Jem could finish, Van Cleave put a hand on him and shoved Jem back a step. Jem hit the big Silverado parked in the middle of the showroom. His head rocked back—not all that hard, but enough to tap the glass.
The lights went up. Every light in his head: bright, white, and burning. He felt like he had to squint against the sudden brightness.
Van Cleave was still stepping forward, gripping Jem’s shirt. Jem reacted—it wasn’t a choice, it wasn’t a thought. It was Decker. And all the years after Decker.
Two hands were stronger than one. And two hands, with one of them bending Van Cleave’s thumb back, were like magic.
Pain flashed across Van Cleave’s face, then shock, and then, when he tried to pull free and couldn’t, panic.
Jem kept up the pressure, forcing the thumb back a moment longer, until Van Cleave’s eyes widened, and he’d forgotten about being King Cock and all his little animal brain cared about was getting away.
Then Jem released him, and Van Cleave took a stumbling step back.
“Rudy—” Trevino barked.
Flushing, Van Cleave yanked at the windbreaker.
“What’s going on here?” Little Dick clip-clopped across the showroom in those fucking loafers. He had to be at least a foot shorter than Van Cleave, and he was wearing a paisley tie, but there was a strange excitement in his expression. “Excuse me,” he said again, more loudly. “Can I help you?”
Trevino recovered first. “No, sir. We were just having a conversation.”
“It didn’t look like a conversation. It looked like you were laying your hands on one of my employees. Jem, you okay?”
Jem jerked out a nod. He even managed to smooth down the front of his shirt where Van Cleave had grabbed him.
“Everything’s under control, sir—” Trevino began.
“You’re damn right it is. You’re police?”
“State Bureau of Investigation.”
“Let’s see some identification.”
Trevino didn’t look like she made faces often, but right then, she was clearly tempted. She pulled out her badge wallet. Van Cleave seemed to have finally decided he wasn’t going to shoot anyone, so he gave up on the windbreaker and produced his ID as well. He was favoring the hand Jem had grabbed.
Little Dick didn’t just look at the badges. He inspected them, like he was some kind of fucking expert. Then he took a picture of each one. When he finished, he handed them back. “Now, what can I help you with?”
“We were just having a conversation with Mr. Berger,” Trevino said again.
“Did he do something wrong?”
Trevino hesitated. Then she said, “This is just a conversation.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“And who are you, sir?”
“Rick Tate. And you’re standing in my dealership, so I’d like some straight answers before I call my lawyer and report that the state police are assaulting my employees.”
“He was resisting arrest,” Van Cleave growled.
Little Dick actually puffed up his chest. “Is that true? Is he under arrest?”
Trevino managed not to look at Van Cleave when she said, “Not at this moment.”
“Then I think you’d better leave. He’s working, and when my employees are working, I expect them to work.”
Trevino nodded; the smooth professional was back, and with a low word to Van Cleave, she turned for the exit. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Berger.”
Little Dick watched them leave.
Jem caught himself still trying to smooth the front of his shirt. His hands were trembling.
“Fucking pigs,” Little Dick said when the showroom doors closed behind the SBI agents. Then he glanced at Jem.
Somehow, Jem managed some kind of screwed-up smile.
Little Dick watched him. The dark eyes were calculating. And then Little Dick said, “Brian did a fucking terrible job with those balloons.”
Jem’s head felt loose on his neck when he nodded. “Right. Yeah. I’ll, uh, fix them. Right now.”
“Never trust a dumbshit to do a man’s job, you know?”
And then, after that, a hooked silence. Waiting.
Jem forced himself to laugh.