Chapter Fourteen
Helena
I UNLOCKED MY front door, and we walked into my home, Cullen flipping on lights as I closed the door behind us.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“You were just really quiet on the drive home.”
“Just processing,” he said.
“Is it about Skip?” I asked, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Or Hatch’s reaction to him?”
“You saw that, huh?”
“Oh, yeah,” I breathed out. “He has a tell.”
Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Does he?”
“In the form of looking like he might murder someone, yes.”
Cullen chuckled. “There is that.”
“I really am okay, honey. The bottom line is that the only thing Skip really cares about is his car, and I’ve made my peace with that.”
“You’ve mentioned Skip’s car before. What’s the deal there?”
“When my uncle was fifteen years old, he bought a rusted out, beat up 1963 Mercury Comet from a Christmas tree farmer out in Bethel. In the end I think he paid more for the tow truck to haul the Comet back to Portland than he paid for the actual car itself, but my uncle didn’t care. He was obsessed. So much so that the family started calling the car ‘Christine’ behind Skip’s back. He spent every dime he earned and every spare minute he had on restoring that car, and one year later he took his driver’s license test in his perfectly restored Mercury.”
“And he still drives it to this day?”
“This day and every day,” I replied.
“He hang out with other classic car guys? Go to auto shows or anything?” Cullen asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so, why?”
“Just wondering what makes ol’ Skip tick, that’s all.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why’s that?”
“Knowing what’s important to a person makes getting to know them a lot easier.”
“You want to get to know my uncle?”
“I don’t want to go bowling with the guy if that’s what you’re asking, but I would like to know what motivates him and what he values. Maybe someday I’ll be in a position where I can influence his behavior somehow.” He shrugged. “Help him see how undervalued you are within the department.”
“Good luck with that,” I said with a chuckle. “You’d have to restore a fleet of American muscle cars together before he’d listen to you about me. Besides, he won’t be around forever. I mean, the guy has to retire at some point, right?”
Cullen shrugged again.
“Not that it matters anyway,” I said. “I’m sure he’s poisoned the well within the department enough that even after he’s gone, I’ll still be passed over for promotion.”
“Well then. Let’s hope that at some point Skip sees the light.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t hold my breath until then, won’t you?”
Cullen smiled back, before changing the subject to discovering what we were going to try out from Maisie’s bag of goodies first. It didn’t take long to distract us both, but little did I know, he was a master multi-tasker.
* * *
Cullen
Late Friday night, or rather, early Saturday morning, I stood in the parking lot of the Thirsty Kitty, a strip club on Columbia, way out by the airport, that was legendary for two things… its horrible, hard to get to location and its ‘Champagne Room.’ While it was very common for strip clubs to have private lap dance rooms for patrons who choose to pay a premium, the dancers at the Thirsty Kitty were willing to provide services way beyond the usual bump and grind routine. The place had been raided by Portland Vice and shut down at least a half-dozen times over the years, but it always miraculously reappeared time after time. Normally, I wouldn’t be caught dead near a place like this, but tonight I had a meeting with one of the club’s regular patrons.
It was twenty minutes after two A.M., and there were only four vehicles left in the parking lot. My truck, two pieces of shit import sedans, and a cherry 1963 Mercury Comet, painted in factory correct ‘Peacock blue’. The prized possession of the man I was to meet with. He didn’t know we were about to meet, just like he didn’t know about the crowbar hidden up my jacket sleeve, or about the dancer I’d paid a thousand bucks to record his horny ass, but he’d find out soon enough.
Moments later, the man of my interest staggered out of the building, followed closely by a woman I assumed to be a dancer and a large man who could have been a bouncer or the club’s DJ. Either way, they paid no mind to me. They simply got into their respective pieces of shit cars and drove off, leaving only my guy, who had now noticed me standing near his car.
“What are doing there, huh? You trying to break into my car, punk?” he growled, drunkenly swaying as he approached.
“Skip Loman?” I asked.
“Who the fuck are you? Get the hell away from my car,” he said, lumbering towards me.
“Captain Loman, you don’t know me, but I’m a good friend of your niece Helena.”
“What do you want? What are you doing here?” The stench of alcohol and buffalo wing sauce pouring out of him.
“I came to talk to you, man to man, about a few things. I’d appreciate it if you gave me a few minutes of your time and then I’ll happily call you an Uber, as you’re clearly in no condition to drive.”
The guy was a fucking asshole, and while I didn’t really care if he died in a ditch, I didn’t want him plowing into some innocent family driving home from a night out at Pizzerama Bowl.
“Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t do. I don’t give a fuck if you know my bitch of a niece. You can both go to hell— wait a minute. How the hell did you know I was here?”
“I’m a resourceful guy, Captain. Finding you was a walk in the park. Then again, it’s much easier to find the needle in the haystack of security cam footage when it’s painted peacock blue. If you want to stay low key, I’d suggest driving a black sedan, built within the last ten years, and not hanging out in a place covered in body oil and glitter.”
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking too, kid?”
I took a breath. “I’ll ask you again, nicely. Please take a seat right here,” I said, pointing to the lip of a concrete lamp post base. “And listen carefully to what I have to say, then we’ll figure out how to get you home.”
“Get the hell out of my way or I’ll belt you in the mouth, you goddamned punk.”
I stepped aside. “Okay, if you say you’re in good enough condition to drive, who am I to stop you?”
Skip only managed two uneasy steps towards his car before I stopped him again. I put my right arm to my side, straightening it out completely, letting the crowbar slip from my sleeve and into my hand.
“Maybe you’re in good enough condition to drive, but your car isn’t,” I said, bashing in the driver’s side headlight with the tire iron.
Skip shrieked.
“See? You’ve got a busted headlight.”
“You…you…you’re gonna pay for that,” Skip screamed, and he began to dig into his waistband.
Figuring, correctly, that he was going for a gun, I slapped him as hard as I could, sending him to the ground, without knocking him unconscious. Sure enough, as Skip went down, a snub-nosed .38 revolver fell from his waistband, skidding onto the pavement.
“You’ll stay down there if your smart,” I warned, picking up the gun and putting it in my pocket.
“I don’t know who you are, but you have messed with the wrong guy,” Skip said, sitting up.
“My name is Cullen Wallace and as I said earlier, I’m a friend of Helena’s. You are Captain Sheldon “Skip” Loman. Veteran fire fighter, recipient of several commendations including the Firefighter of the year, 2004, and the Distinguished Service Award just to name a few.”
“That’s right, which means I’ve got friends. Friends that are gonna help me skin you alive.”
“First of all, thank you for your public service. I sincerely mean that. Secondly, please don’t bother threatening me. I’m a small business co-owner, which basically means I’m broke, and you can’t torture me any more than my brothers already have. Besides, you’re the one in the hot seat tonight, Cap’n.”
“Go fuck yourself,” he replied.
“Oh, no. The conversation is going backwards. Let me see if I can restart us.”
I smashed the other headlight with the crowbar before puncturing several holes into the hood. I have to admit that it tore me up inside to harm such a beautiful automobile, but it was for a good cause.
“You sonofa—”
“Hold it right there,” I said, pulling Skip’s pistol from my pocket, and clicking the safety to off. “Sit right back down under that lamp, or I’ll shoot you dead. I swear to Saint Florian, the patron saint of firefighters, I will.”
“I’m a respected and decorated Captain of one of the best arson investigation units in the country,” Skip seethed. “I’ll make sure Sheriff Tidwell hangs you.”
“If he does, I know I can borrow some rope from you. Isn’t that right, Cap’n?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about all that rope you’re about to hang yourself with. Miles of it.” I slid the crowbar into my waistband and took out my phone. Scrolling to my recent media folder, I showed Captain Skip the screen.
“Nice video, huh?”
The captain’s face drained of all color. His mouth wide open in stunned silence.
“Don’t worry about me accidentally deleting this from my phone. It’s already backed up to the cloud with copies ready to be sent to everyone in your phone’s contact list if I don’t stop the automated task before a certain time known only to me.”
“Which one of the fucking whores set me up?”
“Don’t worry about how I got the footage and certainly don’t be embarrassed. I gotta say, you look pretty good in the buff for an older guy. You should be proud. Oh, but then again, your ex-wife, Meredith and daughter Skylar probably won’t be completely stoked when they see it. Not to mention the laugh riot at every fire station in the country once these videos go viral.”
“You’re not gonna get away with this,” Skip grunted.
“Yes, I am, Skippy. That’s why I have no reservations giving you my real name, which once again for the record, is Cullen Marcus Wallace. And also, why I can do this.”
I focused my rage, once again, on the Mercury. This time, kicking the driver’s side mirror clean-off before smashing the windshield with the crowbar.
“Stop hurting her!” he cried as I tore through the ragtop.
I rushed over to him, pushing the crowbar into his sweaty, doughy, face.
“That is a fucking car. An inanimate object. It doesn’t have feelings. Do you know a real woman who does have feelings? Your niece, Helena. And you and I are gonna have a conversation about her future. Well, both of your futures really. But I don’t want you to worry about anything, because I’ve got everything mapped out for you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you doing everything I tell you to do, or this video, and the others like it that were shot tonight inside the Champaigne Room will be sent to everyone you’ve ever met. Not to mention the intense physical hurt I will personally put on you if my demands are not met. And I assure you, they are demands. Not suggestions, not threats, not talking points. I’m going to tell you what to do, and then you’re going to do it. And should you make the grave mistake of thinking to yourself that I’m bluffing, or don’t pose any real threat to you, I’d suggest you check the balance of your pension fund as soon as possible before its contents are transferred to the Portland Policeman’s Charity Ball fund.”
“What the fuck do you want from me?” Skip asked through clenched teeth.
“To do the right thing. That’s it. Nothing shady and nothing that is gonna hurt anyone. Monday morning, the first thing you’re gonna do when you get to work is announce your retirement. You’re ten years past minimum full retirement age, and we both know the only reason you’ve stayed was because of the steady paycheck and your huge ego.”
“And I suppose you want me to promote my bitch of a niece, before I go, right?”
“You or the car?” I asked.
“What? What are you saying?”
“You or the car? I need you to choose.”
“I don’t get what you’re asking.” Beads of sweat poured down Skip’s face.
“The first time you called Helena a bitch I let it slide, but this time I have to hit one of you with this crowbar and you need to decide if it’s you, or your precious Peacock blue baby.
Skip’s eyes met mine, making the briefest of connections.
“That’s right,” I said. “I know the Mercury factory color name. It’s a beautiful car. Please know I find no pleasure in damaging such a fine work of art, but I do find pleasure in making you suffer, because you’ve done nothing but make Helena suffer. So, what’s your decision? You or Miss Peacock?”
Skip burst into tears as he pointed to his beloved blue chariot.
“And yes,” I said before puncturing all four tires. “You are going to name Helena as your successor and make sure she’s fast-tracked to a promotion of captain. Once that’s all taken care of, you can retire. Giving you plenty of time to restore your Comet, catch up on reading, and most of all enjoying life with full use of your legs and bowels. You’re also going to stay away from family dinner for the foreseeable future. And again, should you think I’m bluffing, you should also know that I happen to know an excessive number of bikers for a guy who drives a Super Duty, and they’re all big fans of Helena.”
“You’ve made your point.”
“And I’ve made my demands. Now, you’re gonna call a cab to pick you up and take you home, get a good night’s sleep, enjoy your weekend, then on Monday, you’re gonna do exactly what I told you to do, right?”
Skip nodded.
I raised the crowbar to his face. “I don’t need to send you home with some sort of reminder, do I?”
He shook his head.
“Productive meeting, everyone. Great suggestion from everyone,” I said before getting in my truck and driving off, leaving Skip and his favorite toy alone under the soft neon lights of the Thirsty Kitty sign.