Boss had called Step away on a special assignment so Kenny was forced to set out on his own. He hated the idea of being without his fellow closeout king. Ol’ Step was the most important person in Kenny’s life. He’d never admit such a thing to the skinny hick, but it was as true as the sky is blue. The robust killer with the perfectly arched bill on his cap just felt plain hobbled without his partner.
He repeatedly knocked on Suzanna Campbell’s trailer door without so much as a “fuck off” from inside. He heard the TV blaring and smelled the unmistakable odor of crack sneaking through the rotten rubber lining around the thin door. She was inside, and she knew she had a visitor. She just didn’t give a shit.
Kenny opened the door and stepped up on the landing. Peeking his head inside, he saw the lumpish figure of Suzanna almost melted into the frayed fabric of her couch. Her eyelids hid away half the pained look that had anchored into her battered soul. She was the deadest woman that ever drew a breath.
The chubby closeout king’s mind flipped to memories of his own mother. A saintly woman she was not; her most tolerable moments were spent passed out on a similar couch in Kenny’s childhood home. She guzzled homemade skunk wine from the time she kicked out of bed until the time she planted herself face-first onto the drool-stained fabric of that rat-chewed sofa. In between rising in the late afternoon and drinking herself into oblivion by early evening, she took a hand to Kenny’s fat cheeks every time he dared to place himself in her field of vision. She couldn’t stand how stupid and unkempt he was. “The devil himself could not make something so offensive,” she’d say, “and don’t God want a thing to do with you, neither.”
The dank, confined space of the trailer reminded him of his childhood even more. He spent his youth imagining the walls of his house closing in on him. Every day, he would compulsively check to see if he could fit through the bathroom window in case he ever had to escape his shrinking home. He knew it wasn’t really shrinking—he wasn’t that stupid—but that didn’t mean it didn’t feel real and crushing all the same.
His mother was the first person he closed out. He didn’t do anything to actively bring about her demise. He just watched as she choked on a bone while eating a cold, extra crispy piece of fried chicken over the kitchen sink. She reached for him and mouthed a blue-lipped “help,” even motioned for him to get on the phone and call someone. Eleven-year-old Kenny ripped the phone out of the wall instead. When her heart put out its last thump, he finished off her chicken and smiled at the sight of his ashen-faced mother growing stiff on the cheap laminate floor.
He didn’t go without beatings after her death. His old man knocked him around for this and that. His old man’s girlfriends slapped him around. His grandparents, his teachers, even the kids at school lit into him more frequently than not. Kenny was pretty much beaten by nearly everyone who ever came into contact with him, until he started punching back. As it turned out, he was pretty good at beating the snot out of anyone who had it coming, including his old man. Throwing punches led to a stint in prison for involuntary manslaughter, which led to meeting a cousin of Boss Perry’s, which led to a career as a closeout king, which led to meeting the only and best friend he’d ever had: Step Crawford. And if you asked Kenny, he’d tell you he had a pretty good life because of it.
“Suzanna?” Kenny called. “It’d be Kenny Fable. You remember me?”
She didn’t answer. Her zombie stare couldn’t be torn away from Hoda and Kathie Lee on the TV.
“I was—am friends with that man of yours, Billy.”
Still no reply.
Kenny sat down next to her on the couch. “I know you two ain’t in the talking frame of mind with each other. Relationships can get messy.”
The two women on TV cackled and roared and did everything but make sense.
“I need to talk to you about some things. You mind if we shut them two on the TV off? They’re about too much to compete with. I can’t squawk near as loud as them.”
She kept fixated on the pulsating image on the TV.
Kenny looked around for the remote and then spotted it in her hand. He slowly reached over and gently took it away from her. He clicked it off just as the women were going on about the amount of wine they drank most mornings.
Suzanna’s expression didn’t change.
Kenny watched for a few seconds before he said, “I’m here about your girl, Suzanna.”
The dead-ish woman slowly turned to him.
“That’s it. There you go. Do I need to go through introductions again, or did you get who I am?”
“Sarah,” Suzanna whispered.
“Sarah? No, ma’am. Kenny…Fable…I knew…know Billy…Oh, Sarah! That’s your girl, ain’t it?”
Suzanna reached for Kenny with a trembling hand. “I want my Sarah back.”
“Yes, ma’am, I expect you would. I come to find out more on that.”
“Please…” She buried her face into Kenny’s chest.
He clumsily patted her on the shoulder. “Now, that ain’t necessary, Suzanna. Me and my partner want to run her down for you, but we ain’t got a clue where to start.”
A muffled screech escaped her raw throat.
“You gotta give us something to go on. Was you around when she got took?”
She nodded, still against Kenny’s chest.
“Good…I mean at least you got an idea of the folks that took her. Did you know them?”
She shook her head.
“How many was there?”
“Two,” she said weakly.
“Uh-huh. Two. That’s good information. What’d they look like?”
She shrugged. “Monsters.”
“Okay,” Kenny said still patting her shoulder. “Now that’s a bit general, description-wise. Was they tall or short or fat or skinny…anything along those lines?”
She pulled her head away from his chest. “Pirate.”
“Pirate?”
“The meanest one. He was tall, had a pirate patch.”
Kenny perked up. “Across his eye, you mean?”
She nodded.
“I know that fella.” He grimaced. “Lord howdy, I have wasted a lot of sad thoughts that fella’s way. I can see that now. Boss shoulda done more than shoot his eye out.” He moved to stand, but Suzanna buried her head in his chest again. “You gotta let me loose there, Suzanna.”
“Don’t go.”
“I can appreciate your sadness…” He caught a glimpse of her crack pipe lying on the cluttered coffee table and replayed Step’s talk about triggers in his head. He eased on back and patted her on the shoulder again. “You go on then, Suzanna. You forget all this for a time.”