The downside of undercover work—well, one of the downsides—was that you actually had to do the job you’d been hired for. For some cops, that meant hanging around street corners and going to raves. Kevin had met one guy who’d been investigating an ice-cream parlor suspected of laundering drug money. Two months scooping cones and mopping up after kids who’d dropped their treats. At the time, Kevin had felt sorry for him, but right now, after a full day of shouting pitches at passersby, wheedling guys into laying down for one more chance at winning a teddy bear for the girlfriend, and constantly restocking, resetting, sweeping up BBs, stomping boxes, wiping off the counter—he’d spend the rest of his life in a nice, air-conditioned sweet shoppe and count himself grateful. Or, more to the point, in a nice, air-conditioned squad car with a radar gun.
But now, finally, it was five o’clock, which meant the end of his shift. As a new jointy, he got morning and midday, the least profitable time. The older, more experienced agent got evening to close, when the lot was packed with young adults with money to burn and enough alcohol in their systems to make them indifferent as to how much they lost. Kevin could see the man headed his way to take over. Except when he stepped out of the sun’s glare, it wasn’t the agent. It was the boss.
“Hey, Mr. Hill.” Was he blown? He’d seen at least four people on the midway today who could have ID’d him, although no one showed any signs of recognizing straight-arrow Kevin Flynn behind the beard and tattoos. “You subbing in for Don?”
“Yeah. Lemme in.”
Kevin unlatched the side door and swung it open. Two bodies behind the counter made him realize how small the joint was.
“How’s it been today?”
“Crazy.” Kevin pulled the plastic tub where he tossed tickets off the shelf. It was more than half-full.
“Good. Good.” Hill looked over the plush display; stuffed animals hung in thick garlands, the big bears looming over the target board. “How’s your stock holding up?”
“I went through three boxes today, but they didn’t all move. I like to keep the display really flashed.”
“You got good instincts, kid.” Hill turned toward him. “You’re not going to have any more trouble with the cops, are you?”
“No, sir.”
“’Cause you know, if I catch you selling drugs on my show, I’m kicking you out and you walk home. It don’t matter how good a worker you are.”
“I know, Mr. Hill. I’m not dealing.”
“I don’t expect my people to be choirboys, but I got rules. No drugs and no turning tricks.”
“I’m definitely not doing that.”
Hill cuffed him on the back of the head, laughing. “Okay. Get those tickets to Joe, he’ll mark your tally. Make sure you—Uh-oh, look at this. Is that the minister who brought you back?”
Kevin followed Hill’s gaze and sure enough, there was Reverend Clare, black dress, white collar, looking like she was out to save souls.
“Never known a preacher to do a favor for free,” Hill said. “There’s always a pitch on the backside.”
The reverend reached his booth. “Hi, Kevin.” She smiled brightly at the boss. “Hi, I’m Clare Fergusson.” She stuck out her hand.
“Brent Hill.”
“Kevin, I was wondering if I could take you out to dinner. If you get a break, that is.”
“Um…” He didn’t want to seem eager.
“You’re in luck, Pastor. I’m relieving him right now.” Hill’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Go on, Kevin. Say a prayer for me.”
“No, no, no, nothing like that. Just a burger. And maybe I could set you up with a bag of groceries.”
“That would be great!” Kevin didn’t hide the enthusiasm in his voice. Carny work didn’t pay much; Hill wouldn’t think it strange for him to jump at a meal and thirty or forty bucks’ worth of groceries. He unlatched the door and let himself out. “Um. I have to drop my tickets off at the office.”
“I’ll bag and tag ’em for you, kid.” Hill lowered his voice. “Remember, there ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.”
“I’m parked by the main entrance.” Reverend Clare pointed and strode off. She kept up a steady flow of loudly pitched questions as they made their way through the lot—Was the job hard? How did he get health care if he needed it? What were his living conditions like? Kevin got so lulled by the give-and-take of her do-gooderism he was startled when they passed through the gates and her voice dropped. “Russ needs to speak with you.”
“Why? I mean—”
She unlocked her car. “We’re going to the rectory. Don’t worry.” She grinned. “You really are getting dinner and a bag of pantry staples.” She slid into her seat. Kevin got in. Inside, her car smelled like antiseptic wipes and old milk. “I hope this is okay. I don’t want to raise any suspicions on the part of your coworkers.”
“Don’t worry. If I’d thought it would look bad, I would have blown you off. As it is, the old guy in the booth is my boss, and he thinks it’s hysterical that you’re going to swap a meal for the chance to proselytize me.”
She shifted and pulled out of the parking area. “Oh, you’re in luck, then. I’ve got some day-by-day booklets and prayer guides I can send home with you.”
Kevin had been to the chief’s old house before. Every summer, he and his wife—his first wife—held a cookout for the department. He guessed the chief would eventually figure out something similar at the new home, but until now, no one from the department had been there, as far as he knew. The MKPD, he corrected himself. Forget staying in character, being back in Washington County was making it hard for Kevin to remember he wasn’t part of the Millers Kill family anymore.
The rectory driveway was made private by a tall hedge between it and the church grounds. The reverend parked nose-in, tight to the small carriage house that maybe served as the garage, so the passenger door was facing the steps up to the side entrance. Someone would have to be standing on the sidewalk right in front of the house to see him exiting the car, and even then, he’d be hard to identify.
Nevertheless, Kevin took the steps two at a time. The door opened before he reached it and the chief hustled him inside. A complaining “Hey!” kept him from shutting out his wife.
“Sorry,” the chief said. “Kevin, thanks for coming. I know anything out of the norm can be dangerous to an undercover investigation, so I appreciate it.”
With a heavy woof, a russet Lab mix bounded across the kitchen floor, butting into the reverend. “Easy, Oscar.” She pushed against the dog’s head. “Let me get the door closed.”
“Um. It’s no problem, Chief. It’s just, I don’t know if I have any more information that might help you. I haven’t heard any talk about anybody seeing a girl, or getting into trouble.” He hadn’t heard much talk about anything. He was going to look like he spent the summer playing hooky on the state task force’s dime unless he managed to make contact with someone directly involved with the drugs-for-firearms deal.
“Yeah.” The chief rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not about that.”
The picture snapped into focus. The legal papers he had read at Hadley’s dining room table. He had been so swept up with his own involvement, and what it might mean for her, he’d barely registered the other party to the complaint. The Millers Kill Police Department.
“The lawsuit. From Hadley’s ex.” The dog, done with greeting Reverend Clare, shoved his muzzle into Kevin’s hand. He scratched the broad, hard dome of the mutt’s head, his mind racing.
“Why don’t you two sit down?” Reverend Clare tied a Have you hugged an Episcopalian today? apron around her waist. “Russ, where’s Ethan?”
“In his bouncy chair in the living room.” As if on cue, the baby squawked from beyond the kitchen. Kevin knew a little bit about babies—he had been nine when his youngest brother was born—and he translated the demanding noise into Why isn’t anyone paying attention to me?
“Want me to get him?” Kevin asked.
The chief looked as if Kevin had offered to perform a card trick. “Please,” Reverend Clare said. “Right through there.” She pointed to the swinging louvered doors.
Their living room was what he would have expected: some nice antiques, overstuffed furniture, overflowing bookcases. The baby was in a Jolly Jumper in front of the gated-off fireplace. As Kevin approached, he kicked his feet against the floor and sent himself up a good five inches into the air. “Nice one,” Kevin said. “The Millers Kill basketball team is going to be glad to see you fifteen years from now.”
He slid the baby out of the seat. Ethan stared at his face for a moment before reaching for his beard. “You like that, huh? Your dad doesn’t have one of these.” He hoisted the jumper—more like a piece of playground equipment than baby furniture—and toted both into the kitchen.
“Thank you, Kevin.”
“Let me help you with that.” The chief took the jumper out of his hand and placed it on a rubber mat near the pantry door. He didn’t sound any different, but then, he wouldn’t. Cops dealt with liars all the time, and the side effect was you became a better liar yourself. It was a tool in the kit, like a Maglite and a Taser. Use it to help others, you keep civilians calm and bluff witnesses in investigations. Use it for yourself … you wind up dropping nine grams of methamphetamines into your lover’s ex-husband’s suitcase.
“Kevin?” The chief was looking at him. “Can I have the baby?”
“Oh! Sorry. I was…” He decided to not try to explain what he was. He transferred Ethan into the chief’s hands and took a seat at the table. Oscar laid his head in Kevin’s lap and whined. Even a dog knows how pitiful I am. Kevin sighed and scratched between Oscar’s ears.
The chief sat down, Ethan straddling one of his legs. The two of them looked across the plain pine table at Kevin with identical blue eyes. “So. Kevin.” The chief huffed what might have been a sigh. “Knox tells me she showed you the summons from her ex. The lawsuit.”
“Yeah.” Kevin glanced toward Reverend Clare. Her back was turned toward them, her hands peeling and chopping. “I read them.”
“You realize you’re a party to the suit. They’d have served you already if they knew where to find you.”
“Yeah, I know how it works, Chief.”
“Dylan Knox was stopped and arrested at the Albany airport when a drug-sniffing dog turned up suspicious packages in his suitcase. He claims they weren’t his, and that you, Hadley, and the MKPD conspired to frame him for possession.” The chief sounded exactly like he did when laying out facts at a briefing. Kevin half-expected to turn around and see Deputy Chief MacAuley writing on a whiteboard.
The chief looked at him expectantly. Kevin shrugged. “He would say that, wouldn’t he? I mean, I once picked up a guy who claimed he just happened to catch three bottles of OxyContin someone threw out a window.”
“Chad DuKuys.” The chief snorted a little. “I was amazed he actually had brains enough to get Oxys. I’d have figured him for the kid whose friends would sell him baby aspirin.” Ethan burbled, as if in agreement. “However.” The chief’s face sobered. “I don’t think Dylan Knox is dumb. Mean and vindictive, yes. But not dumb.”
Kevin kept his face calm and his voice even. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Chief.”
“I’d like you to say you had nothing to do with nine grams of meth getting into the man’s luggage.”
“Okay. I had nothing to do with—”
“Kevin.” The chief caught Ethan one-handed as the baby tried to fling himself onto the floor. “Let me rephrase myself. I’d like you to tell me the truth.”
Kevin had taken a hike with the Boy Scouts one summer, with an overambitious, inexperienced dad leading the troop. They had gone over a hill and down a gentle slope, following one of the thousand small streams that cross and recross the Adirondack valleys. They had noticed the stream swelling and rising, thanks to a distant line of thunderstorms over the western mountains, but no one had thought to turn back until they reached a spot where the narrowing hills on either side ended and the now-boiling water spilled into a vast and boggy arboreal swamp. Behind them, the stream-side trail was flooded. Ahead of them, the prospect of picking their way from hummock to hummock. Either way, return or go on, someone was going to get a soaking.
Kevin could feel the water splashing at his feet. He knew Chief Van Alstyne. It wouldn’t matter his motivation, it wouldn’t matter that Hadley’s ex had been blackmailing her and threatening to take her kids away. If Chief knew Kevin had planted those baggies of meth, he’d say so. He’d do his best to shield them, of course, because that was also who he was, but the damage would be done. Dylan Knox would be exonerated and Hadley and her kids would come out the losers.
“I don’t know where he got those baggies, Chief. Hadley told me he liked to live fast. I know he did drugs when they were together.”
The chief leaned forward, causing the baby to crane his neck upward and examine his father’s chin. “What about the meth you copped in Albany?”
“The DEA guy’s bait? I left it at Albany South Station.”
“Knox says she never saw you take it from your car.”
“Not to throw doubt on Hadley’s recollection, Chief, but we were at the station when she found out her ex had taken the kids from her granddad and was planning to leave the state with them. She was a little preoccupied.” He was amazed at how easy it was to lie to the chief, so long as he ignored the ache in his stomach and the tight feeling in his chest.
“And that’s your story?”
“Do you want me to change it? I mean, if you’re looking for a fall guy to definitively get the MKPD off the hook, I’ll do it, but it’s not my first choice.”
“No, no, no. For Christ’s sake.” At the stove, the reverend coughed. “Pardon my French,” the chief said to her back. He turned toward Kevin. “Are you willing to testify to that?”
“Sure.” His mouth felt like cotton.
The chief’s eyes narrowed. “Kevin…”
“Kevin, would you like a drink? I have water, lemonade, and I think there’s some flavored seltzer in the fridge.” Reverend Clare set three glasses on the table.
“Thanks. Water’s fine.” He couldn’t tell exactly what the dynamic was between husband and wife, but the chief sat back, frowning slightly.
Kevin had never seen anyone bustle before, but there was no doubt that was what Reverend Clare was doing. She poured water, laid bowls and silverware, handed out napkins, and settled a bowl of pasta salad on the table with such purposeful activity it quashed all conversation. She took her seat and said, “Grace,” in a tone that was more order than invitation. Kevin and the chief obediently bowed their heads. “Bless, oh Lord, this food to our use and ourselves to your service. Amen.” She nudged the salad toward him. “So, Kevin. How is the investigation going?”
It was full dark when Reverend Clare dropped him by the back entrance to the fair, where the carny campers were squared off between power poles and electrical lines. As he stepped out of her car, she handed him a bunch of pamphlets. “As promised. Try to look as if you’ve been preached at all evening long.”
He nodded. His nerves were still stretched to a thin line from the chief’s questioning. It wasn’t going to be difficult to seem uncomfortable.
“Be safe. I’ll be praying for you.”
“Thanks.” He watched her reverse, and then her red lights trailing away into the night. He swiveled his shoulders to loosen the kink in his upper back. Past the trailers, the midway was still going full bore, lighting the sky in brilliant colors, like fireworks fallen to earth. The music from the various rides were a blur of noise from this distance. He had learned to sleep through it.
God, he felt so alone.
Most of the campers were dark as he walked past them, the only noise the dull roar of air conditioners and fans in windows. The night shift was at work, manning the games and rides that would be active until midnight. The day shift was bedded down, sleeping while they could. Tomorrow and Saturday would bring the biggest crowds of the week, followed by Sunday and the break-down that afternoon.
“Hey, Kevin.” Aaron Kaspertzy was sitting on a lawn chair outside his trailer. The end of his cigarette was a bright ember in the gloom. “Heard you went off to get converted.”
Sitting in the neighboring chair felt like dropping back into his life, as if the Kevin who had lied to the chief while accepting his hospitality was the fake, and the real Kevin had always been the high school dropout and drifter. He waved Reverend Clare’s pamphlets. “I dunno about being converted, but I got a good meal for free.”
“Any cigarettes?”
Kevin laughed. “No.” Kaspertzy held out his pack. Kevin took one and lit it. The first drag felt dangerously good.
“You’re not planning on jumping ship, are you?”
“Hell, no,” Kevin said. “What would I do, flip burgers? I make better money here, and I like the job. It’s, you know, man’s work. Not something meant for teenagers after school.”
“I just thought, after that run-in with the law, maybe…”
“Yeah, that wasn’t my best moment.” Kevin took another drag on his stick. “I got into a little trouble a couple years ago. There’s still some stuff nobody’s ever connected me with. Guess I got a little paranoid when that cop came toward me.” He mimed smoking weed.
“I hear you, bro.” Kaspertzy stretched his legs out. “We all do some dumb shit when we’re young. I once got into a fight, sent the other guy to the hospital.”
“You get picked up?”
“Naw. I had friends who worked the circuit south. I hit the road and joined up with their show until things cooled off up here.”
“What happened to the guy?”
Kaspertzy shrugged. “He healed up. Came out with a funny-looking face, I heard.”
Kevin snorted.
“The trick is, to get past the age when you’re doing shit for dumb reasons. That guy, we got into a fight because he hit on the girl I was with. I can’t even remember her name now. It’s not like I still couldn’t put somebody in the hospital.” He flexed his large bicep. Kevin held up his hands. Kaspertzy laughed. “Not you. I mean, you got to have a purpose in life. Something you’re fighting for.”
“That would be nice.” Kevin took a long drag on his cigarette. “That would be good.”
Kaspertzy slapped him on the back, a blow that tilted him halfway out of the lawn chair. “You’re all right, Kev. I like you. Hey, you better hit the rack. We’ll talk more later.”
Kevin could hear the snores of his roommate through the thin wall between their tiny bedrooms. He stretched out on his bed, indulging in one last drag on his cigarette before snuffing it out.
Contact.