The smell caught up to Jonah Kepler a few feet inside the back door of his house on Lake Street. He’d lived there since childhood, inheriting the bungalow from his mother when she’d died.
She’d been a pious woman and considered her son a terrible failure. She told him so regularly. He’d never told his uncle or cousins, but Jonah felt profound relief when she finally succumbed to cancer.
He wasn’t a considerate caretaker. The place was usually a mess, the living room draped in pizza boxes, old beer cans and general slobbery.
But it didn’t usually smell strange. That was new, and a familiar reek, something that he knew bothered him but he couldn’t place.
He walked through the kitchen and into the living room.
The man sitting on the couch was using chopsticks, slurping fat, wide noodles from a cardboard container. He had his head down, towards the box, and it took the ex-football player a moment to register who it was.
“Fucking Chink food,” Jonah muttered. “You not only have the balls to break into my house, you have to bring that shit in here with you. I hate that shit. Had a Chinese place near my uncle’s shop, stunk of fish and oil.”
Bob slurped back the pad thai, munching a large mouthful before answering. “It’s not Chinese, it’s Thai,” he said. “Shocked—I am shocked that a witless redneck wouldn’t know the difference.”
Jonah closed the gap between them, standing across the low-slung rectangular coffee table from his unwanted guest. He drew his pistol. “Same shit, different country. Gook food.”
Bob put the carton down and pointed at him forcefully with the chopsticks. “See… that right there is why I decided to pay you a visit first, Jonah.”
“Because you have a death wish and are stupid enough to think you’re faster than a bullet?”
“Nah… because you struck me as the meanest, dumbest of the trio who visited me.” Bob stared at the pistol for a moment. “Damn! Do you even know what you’re holding?”
Jonah looked befuddled. “It’s a Colt 1911. They’re pretty fucking common, dude.”
“Yeah… but that one has extra-thin sights, suggesting it was made before the First World War. It’s probably worth more than that piece of shit jacked-up Chevy you’ve got outside.”
“Eh?”
“Jesus H. So dumb. That, and your home address is still online in the phone book. Who has a listed number these days?” Bob looked around, at the old furniture, the old family photos collecting dust on the wallpapered walls. “I’m guessing you grew up here, got the place from whichever parent lasted longer.”
“Yeah. Speaking of stupid, how retarded are you, exactly? Half the city is looking for your ass, the Kopecs are trying to flush you out… and you come here? You must be the dumbest motherfucker who ever lived,” Jonah said. “You realize I’m legally entitled to shoot you for trespassing? Dang, son!”
Bob nodded. “Oh, sure, absolutely. And from that range—what, six feet away, maybe?—you’d probably even hit me, assuming you’ve kept that old marvel in shape.”
He stood up abruptly.
Jonah extended his arm, nervous tension kicking in, the gun at eye level. “Now, don’t do anything stupid, “Bob.”
“Perish the thought,” Bob said. He nodded past Jonah, towards the door. “As a police officer, I don’t think your other guest would appreciate it much.”
Jonah turned his head quickly to check the doorway. Bob took a step forward the second his head began to move, the cross-body open-palm strike targeting Jonah’s wrist, where the small bones were most vulnerable. The blow stung the younger man, a slap of skin on skin as Bob felt one of the small bones break, the gun tumbling from Jonah’s hand to the floor.
“JESUS FUCK!” Jonah bellowed, grasping at his wrist for the split second it took to register what had just happened. He turned back towards Bob in time to see the fist come whistling in, towards his unprotected chin.
Jonah stirred from unconsciousness, his right arm jerking involuntarily, as if waking up before the rest of him.
But it didn’t move much. Both arms were bound with thick rope to a kitchen chair, with a small length designed to give him some range of motion and prevent him losing circulation. He tried to move his feet, but his legs were tied to the chair’s.
He looked around but couldn’t see Bob.
“Oh good, you’re awake.” A hand came down on Jonah’s shoulder as Bob leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Now… we’re going to do things my way. I guarantee you, it’s not going to be nearly as much fun as you seem to have harassing old men and grieving daughters.”
“You do anything to me, you’re a dead man,” Jonah said. “YOU HEAR ME!? YOU HEAR ME!? I’m a fucking NAME in this town!”
“You’re a washed-up high school football star in no position to make demands. You’re a dime a dozen in this part of the world, Jonah.”
Jonah lost his temper, rage building to the point where he thought he might snap the ropes, shaking the chair, bouncing it in place. “MOTHERFUCKER, I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU! FUCK! YOU FUCK!”
Bob walked around him and sat down in the adjacent kitchen chair. “You know what’s ironic? Normally, screaming that kind of shit in a neighborhood like this at eleven at night would bring a visit from the cops. But I’m betting you’ve probably made lots of noise over the years, and you’ve probably scared your poor neighbors with your erratic criminal behavior. So now, they won’t call anyone. If only you’d been a little nicer. Is that ironic? Or is that just, like, Alanis Morrissette-ironic?”
“FUCK YOU, YOU DIRTY SUM’BITCH! I’LL KILL YOU! I’ll FUCKING KILL YOU!”
Bob leaned back and crossed his arms. “If I was a smoker, now would be the point where I pop outside and let you tire yourself out, like a toddler who needs to throw a tantrum before his nap. And… pardon me for saying it, but that shit with the head fake, where you actually looked behind you to see if a cop…” He shook his head slowly. “I mean, I highly recommend never repeating anything that embarrassing as an anecdote. I’m personally embarrassed for you.”
“Sum’bitch,” Jonah mumbled. “Fucking kill you.”
“That shit never works with anyone,” Bob continued. “The police are actively hunting for me, so why would they be here, helping me? I have to tell you, that officially makes you the biggest fool I’ve ever had to deal with. Plus, it meant I didn’t have to throw my noodles at you. I’m enjoying them, and there’s more than one meal there, I think.” He leaned in a little and softened his voice. “And I am going to deal with you physically, in case you’re wondering what comes next. This is going to be a really unpleasant night for you… but how unpleasant depends on how you behave from here on in.”
Jonah was still steaming, his head shaking back and forth in small, angry increments. “Then… WHAT?! WHAT THE FUCK! What the fuck do you want, man!?”
“That’s simple: I want an address and phone number for Vernon Kopec.”
Jonah’s expression shifted, anger giving way to momentary amusement. “Heh. This is about the old man, isn’t it? He die?”
“Nope. His place burned to the ground, but he’s surprisingly okay with it all. Good insurance, apparently.”
His captive didn’t like that at all. “Dang. Thought he was dead.”
