Can’t Do this Anymore
10:10 PM
With a slow, sinking sensation, you realize you are in exactly the same place you were this afternoon, with the same view of the house and side of the shed. Only before you were peeking between the leather seats of Tony’s Trans Am, now, it’s through the wire cage separating the back of a police cruiser.
Mr. Granger walks directly up to the driver’s side of the car. He’s holding something white in his hand, a handkerchief, touching it to his face as he approaches.
The officer lowers his window. “Nothing?”
“Nothing but dead bodies, three so far,” says Granger. “No sign of Timo. See for yourself.” He lowers his head even with the window. “What the—? Who’s that in there?”
“My witnesses.”
He pulls back, shielding the side of his face with the open palm of his hand. “Jesus Christ, Ballard,” he hisses. “They’ll see me!”
“They already have, you idiot,” your cop says, opening his door and climbing out. “You made sure of that.”
“Yes, well…” Granger lowers his hand and tugs with it at the knot of his already loosened tie. “What I mean is that it’s important that our, uh, agencies, cooperate in every way we can especially with law enforcement when—”
“Yeah, yeah, save your breath,” interrupts Ballard, shutting his door. “Show me already.” Turning back, he says through the open window, “Sit tight kids. You’re up next.”
As they approach the corner of the shed, a dog begins to bark, then another. Ballard’s hand moves toward the gun on his hip.
Granger waves dismissively in the direction of the big tree behind the house. “Tied up,” he says.
Ballard draws his gun anyway and points it in that direction. The dogs are immediately quiet. As he holsters his weapon and turns again toward the shed, he is in the same place Tony and Bobby were when they surprised Timo. “Fucking hell, man,” he says. “Is that your piece of shit security guard?”
“Yeah,” says Granger, holding his handkerchief to his mouth. “At least what’s left of him.”
“And the other two?”
“Over here.” Granger steps out of view and Ballard follows.
You lean forward, straining to listen. Ruth is doing the same.
Ballard is talking, “Another car … must have taken it …” but you can only make out pieces of what he is saying. “…hid while … interrupted … why … killed them…”
“Do you…” Now Granger’s voice. “…coming back?”
“No … doubt … behind… anytime soon.”
Ballard returns alone. He walks to the back of the patrol car, opens the trunk, and then closes it. “Okay,” he says, opening Ruth’s door. “Let’s go, both of you.”
As soon as you are out, he points in the direction of the shed. “Start walking.”
When you turn the corner, you discover that the shed is actually more of a garage, a three-walled structure open on one end. Inside, beneath the harsh glow of the florescent lights hanging from the ceiling is a man tied to a metal folding chair with duct tape and an orange electrical cord. He’s naked, except for his boxers, with his wrists behind his back and his head slumped forward. There are three very obvious bullet holes in his chest and multiple burn marks, each the size of a quarter, cover his legs and arms. The seat of the chair and the floor beneath it are covered in a pool of shit and blood.
The smell is suddenly overwhelming. You cover your mouth as your stomach threatens to push past your chest and escape your throat. Ruth turns and vomits pink milkshake onto the oil-darkened surface of the garage floor next to you.
To keep from joining her, you force your attention to the blue sports car parked inside the garage, a Camaro maybe, with its hatchback up and doors open. That’s when you notice the two figures slumped against each other in the rear seat. You quickly look away to find Granger who seems to be searching for something on the back shelves of the garage. He turns around, holding a battered red, gas can in each hand, but freezes when he sees you and Ruth, his eyes moving back and forth between Ballard, the dead man, and the two of you.
“See this person here,” Ballard says, like a museum docent explaining an exhibit. “He sold drugs to your friends at school.” He steps forward to stand between you and the dead man. “Maybe he sold drugs to you? Recognize him?”
“Ballard,” Granger says, frowning and slowly shaking his head. He seems confused, tired, and sad all at once. “What are you doing?”
Your cop either doesn’t hear or outright ignores him. “I said, do you recognize him?”
Ruth responds, surprising you. “Jesse?”
“Yes, very good.” Ballard faces you as he slowly walks around the body. “Well, Jesse here, did something really stupid.”
Granger steps forward. “Ballard, stop it.”
“You,” the cop says, pointing a finger at your principal, “be quiet.”
Granger glares at him, but only tightens his jaw and doesn’t reply.
Turning back to you and Ruth, Ballard asks, “Do you know what he did?”
“No,” you manage to say.
“Well, Jesse here stole from his bosses. You know what he stole? Drugs. And then he did something even more stupid. He tried to sell those drugs back to the people he stole them from. Smart, huh?” Ballard has circled around and is behind you and Ruth again. “You know what your friend Timo’s job was? He took care of problems, problems like Jesse.” Now he is between you and the dead man. “Not Officer Ballard,” he says, pointing to himself. “Not Principal Granger over here. Timo! Understand?”
Neither of you respond.
He stops walking and moves toward you. “I said, understand?”
You find yourself nodding.
“And I say,” he continues, now standing in front of Ruth. “It’s bullshit that you and your dead boyfriends over there…” He gestures with his thumb toward the blue Camaro. “Just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I say, it’s bullshit the money is gone, the drugs are gone, that Timo is gone, but here you are, alive and well.” He leans even closer to Ruth, his face inches from hers. “And I think you know more, a lot more, and if you don’t start telling me what you know, right now—”
“Leave her alone,” you say. “We told you everything.”
“You, shut up,” he snaps, looking toward you. “You talk too much. The more you say, the less I believe.”
“But you,” he says, returning his attention to Ruth. “Maybe some alone time with your dead boyfriend will help your memory.” He grabs Ruth above the elbow and begins to pull her with him toward the Camaro.
“Leave her alone!” you shout, following after.
Still clutching her roughly by the arm, he pushes Ruth ahead of him while reaching behind his back with his free hand. Suddenly he is pointing a gun in your face. “Back the fuck up,” he says.
You freeze, the revolver so close you can see the copper tips of the bullets in the chamber.
“Ballard!” shouts Granger from behind. “Enough. They’re only kids.”
“Old enough,” the cop says, without taking his eyes off you.
“Old enough? For Christ’s sake, Ballard, listen to yourself.”
“No, you—” Ballard starts, but is cut off by the sound of the two gas cans Granger was holding hitting the ground.
“I’m out,” says Granger. “I’m telling you, I’m out.”
Ballard aims his weapon at Granger. “Listen, old man, you’re just as deep in this as I am. They don’t care. As soon as we’re no longer useful…” He swings the barrel of the gun past Ruth’s face, gesturing with it at the Camaro. “That will be us!”
Ruth is leaning as far from Ballard as his grip will allow, her terrified gaze on the back seat of the sports car next to her.
“You understand me?” threatens Ballard, his gun pointed again at Granger.
This is when you realize the grip of Ballard’s pistol is still protruding from his holster. The weapon in his hand came from somewhere else. Is that what he took from the trunk of his car earlier? He must have had it tucked behind him, but why?
“Stop and think, Granger,” he says. “If we’re not part of the cleanup, we’re part of the mess. There’s no sitting this one out.”
“I don’t care. I can’t do this anymore.”
The dirty cop raises his gun. “That’s too bad,” he says, cocking the hammer with his thumb.
“Wait!” says Ruth. “Maybe I, I think I saw, I don’t—”
Ballard shakes her. “Spit it out, girl!”
You look for some hint on Ruth’s face. What could she possibly have to offer?
“I saw it, my boyfriend’s car, earlier—” She flinches as Ballard squeezes her bicep.
“Earlier, when?”
“On the way here, at the light, going the other way.” She winces again. “A woman was driving it.”
“That could have been anyone.”
“No, I saw it, the license. T-O-N-E-R-O-D,” she spells. “Tony Rodriguez. It was his.”
“What did she look like?” asks Granger.
“Dark, straight hair.”
Granger sighs. “Rosie.”
“Who the hell is Rosie?”
“Jesse’s girlfriend, Rosie,” says Granger, slowly piecing something together in his head. “Of course.”
“Was she alone?”
“I think so.”
Ballard lowers his pistol, resets the hammer. “What do you have on her?” he asks Granger. “Family, friends, anything?”
“My office,” says Granger, frowning in thought. “There might be something.”
Ruth’s shoulders slump with relief, even though her chest is still rising and falling rapidly, but it is the hope in her eyes that makes you look away. Because you have come to the realization that none of this matters, that there is no hope, that Ruth’s information has only put off the inevitable. You and Ruth are part of the mess that needs cleaning. That is why Ballard brought the second gun. He already knows what he has to do with it and there’s no way out of this for either of you.
“Not bad,” says Ballard, moving Ruth toward the Camaro again. “But you can still do better.” He shoves her into the back of the car next to Tony. She claws desperately at the door frame, but he pushes the driver’s seat upright, trapping her inside. “How about I let you out when you remember exactly where your little friend Jennifer lives, okay?”
“Please!” she screams. “I told you everything.”
He shuts the door, then reaches over and slams down the hatchback.
“I told you everything,” she repeats, her voice now muffled and small like someone calling from the bottom of a deep well. “Please, I told you everything, please!”
You know Ruth is only alive because she still might have information Ballard wants. You on the other hand are completely useless to him.
If you’re already dead, you decide, what do you have to lose?
Ballard turns and raises his gun, but you are already in motion.
Only, Granger gets there first.
Everything seems to be happening at once. The deafening pop of gunfire, the warm wetness across your neck and face, the crushing weight of Granger’s body on yours, the floor against your head, someone shouting, dogs barking, more gunshots, and a sound like sirens wailing in your ears. Then darkness and silence.
To be continued…
This story is a work in progress — I’m writing it as fast as I can! More episodes in this thread coming soon. While you are waiting, feel free to return to the beginning: if you make different choices you will get a different story.
I would love to hear from you!
THE MISADVENTURES OF MATTHEW VAN DER BOOT is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental … no matter how many times you ask.