Chapter 22
Friends and Enemies to Lovers
TRE
“Can I get you anything else? More coffee? Maybe a slice of pie before you go?” Sandy asks the two guys sitting at the end of the counter while bussing their plates. They’re the last of the lunch crowd on Saturday afternoon.
“No thanks, hon,” the smaller one replies. “Just the check, please.”
“You got it.”
With no more orders, I turn to clean the grill. A few moments later, the jingle of the bell above the door announces a new customer.
I glance over my shoulder in time to see Eddie slump onto a stool at the counter. Sandy drops off the check and grabs a menu from the rack with a sigh before heading over to him. She extends the menu at arm’s length. “Do you know what you want, Eddie?”
He looks her up and down, then leers. “You know what I want.”
Sandy stiffens, and I walk up beside her. “All good here?” I ask, staring into his eyes, one of which is watery and slightly bulging.
“Uh, yeah. I’ll need a minute to, uh, look at the menu,” Eddie says weakly, dropping his gaze as he takes it from Sandy’s outstretched hand.
She hurries to the register to ring up the previous customers, although I’m sure she’d find any excuse to get away.
“You look pretty tired, Eddie. Are you doing okay?”
He looks up at me, relieved. “Oh man. I just got done talking to the sheriff. They had me there all day.”
“The sheriff?”
“Yeah, he and the feds were grilling me about that night at Hay Creek again.”
“Ugh. Everything is about Henley and Montank,” I declare loudly enough for everyone to hear. “If they’re running Kalomish now, they need to show up at the town hall meetings and answer to us directly.”
“You know, that’s actually a good point,” the larger of the two men at the register says.
“I guess we should tell the council members so they make it happen,” I suggest.
They both nod thoughtfully and walk outside.
Sandy has taken the opportunity to disappear into the back. Good call.
“So why was the sheriff harassing you? They must have already questioned you.”
“I know, right! They asked me a bunch of stuff I already told them, over and over. And then they kept acting like I was involved, like I let those people blow up the building. I didn’t do anything except my job!
I was checking on the site the whole night—like I was supposed to—but I didn’t see anyone. ”
“Wow, they think you were involved? Did they say who they thought did it? Everybody in town has a bunch of wild ideas, but nobody knows anything real.”
“No. They didn’t tell me any names. I think they wanted me to tell them who it was, but I didn’t help anyone!
” Eddie says, sounding exasperated. “This sucks, man. I took that job because it was perfect, right? I got to work by myself. Didn’t have to deal with customers or anybody hassling me, and it was the night shift, leaving every day free.
Mostly though, security is the easiest job in the world!
You just sit there, and since nothing’s happening, you can play on your phone or watch movies or whatever, but you get paid for it.
If I ever found anybody, I’d yell at them and they’d have to listen to me, but if there was a real problem, I would call the cops to handle it. That job was perfect…”
I wish I could roll my eyes, or point out that’s probably why he never saw anyone, but I should be sympathetic since I’m the reason he lost his job. “Yeah, that sounds pretty sweet. Did you know it was like that because you worked security before?”
“Nah, I tried once, though. Back when I was delivering pizzas, I went out to that rich development a little ways north of town—”
“Highland Estates?”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s it. Oh right, your dad’s company did that whole place, didn’t they?
Well, I went out there a few times and always had to be let in by a security guard, so that’s when I got the idea.
That’s not as isolated as a construction site in the woods, but same thing, you know?
I figured I could sit in a little shack for eight hours, press a button or talk on the phone once in a while.
So, when I got fired from the pizza place, I tried to get a job working security there. ”
“I never knew that. You didn’t end up doing it, though?”
“No, it turns out they make that job a big pain in the ass. Those rich people have a lot of demands. I did an interview and even a tour last winter, but I didn’t want to deal with the hassle.”
Now that I know Eddie has first-hand knowledge of the security team and a bit of the procedures of Highland Estates, I keep him talking as long as I can.
He’s happy to complain about how it would have been a lot more work than he expected, as well as how petty and demanding the wealthy homeowners can be.
Eventually, I learn that there are always two guards on shift, one at the gate shack and one at the main security office, which is near the clubhouse.
Half of the job of the office guard is responding to calls from bored rich people who are paranoid someone is trying to break into their McMansion, even though it’s always just a raccoon in the bushes or a tree branch hitting their window.
According to Eddie, the role of the gate guard is annoying, too.
They have to pretend to be happy and respectful to all the rich pricks who complain to management over imagined slights.
The gate guard also has to answer the phone when their counterpart is out responding to a call, so there wasn’t enough quiet for Eddie.
It sounds like security theater—accomplishing nothing but appeasing people who don’t think about it enough to understand it’s pointless.
“Well, if being a security guard was too much hassle, why did you take the job at Hay Creek?” I ask.
“I got fired from the stupid gym because some asshole members complained about me, so I had to find something. That came available right when I needed it and didn’t have any of the problems of working for rich people.
It really was the dream job.” Eddie shakes his head, greasy brown hair hanging over his face.
“Now I’m unemployed again. I couldn’t get hired for security if I tried. ”
“How about a burger, on the house? If I hear of any openings, I’ll let you know.”
“Yeah, thanks, Tre. That’s great, man.”
“You can go ahead. Have a nice day, Mr. White,” the guard says as the metal gate rolls aside to allow me entry to Highland Estates.
“Thanks, you too,” I reply with a nod before rolling up my window and driving through.
I make a mental note of the desk phone in the guard shack and the CCTV cameras covering both entering and exiting traffic. Eddie gave me insight into the security team and some of their procedures, but I’m out here today to learn about the physical security.
I remain below the unnecessarily slow speed limit as I drive the perimeter roads, scouting for likely access points.
The south end would be a terrible option with the highway running alongside those houses. There’s way too much exposure and traffic.
I already know we won’t be able to enter along the west. That area holds the clubhouse for the golfers, a restaurant, a bar, and a small event space.
I wouldn’t survive Fiona’s scorn if I were stupid enough to suggest it.
There are multiple security cameras on the buildings, and both the security vehicle and my dad’s oversized white pickup are in the parking lot.
After talking to Eddie yesterday, I texted my mom to arrange a time I could visit without seeing my dad.
No matter what I intend, if we run into each other it’ll inevitably devolve into a fight.
Now that he’s semi-retired, he spends most afternoons golfing on his own course with whatever neighbors can put up with him that day.
My mom was right about when he’d be gone, so it’s safe to stop by.
Well, as safe as talking to her ever is.
Not only did my dad ensure his house was the largest in the entire development, but he also placed it in the center at the rear, forcing anyone visiting to see as much of his creation as possible.
And people wonder why I fell out with the man.
I turn up the driveway and park next to my mom’s very modern Mercedes. The contrast between our cars is stark, and I revel in the thought that it tarnishes their image a bit.
I’m here, I text. Then I realize that these houses share a lot of construction, meaning the windows and locks probably match the ones where the Henley and Montank execs are staying.
I get out of my car and snap a few pictures.
I’m taking a close-up of the lock and handle when my mom yanks the front door open.
“What are you doing, Richie? And why are you texting me like I’m one of your friends you’re picking up to go to the movies? You have a key. You should let yourself in.”
“Hi mom. Nice to see you too. I’m fine, thank you for asking,” I respond with extra politeness.
“Yes, yes. Come in. Wipe your feet.”
I do as requested, closing the door behind me.
My mother starts in immediately with, “So what brings you out here this month? More trouble with the police over those developers?”
I count to three, resist sighing with superhuman willpower, and reply, “Sheriff’s department, mom.
And I never asked for help with that. Dad just did his usual thing, inserting himself where nobody wanted him, and made a call to have someone else actually handle it.
” The scowl has already formed on her face when I say, “I wanted to come out here because of the trouble going on. I thought I should check in on you to make sure everything’s alright. ”
“Of course we’re alright, Richie. Don’t be absurd. Nobody’s after us, just those East Coast developers. There hasn’t been a whiff of danger, or any kind of excitement, since your father built this place.”