“Better than shooting toy poodles that bark too much. Yeah, Janowski, those dogs got bigger balls than any of your guys on the force. I saw your balls in the locker room. Fucking sad. What’re they? Marbles?” There were still articles printed in the paper about an Officer Biff – Nick couldn’t remember his last name – who’d received a call from an elderly lady about a suspicious man on her property. Biff had heard snarling, and summarily shot the dog, saying he feared for his life.
“Words from a snowflake SJW who doesn’t understand the risks cops take.”
“I’ve been in a room with a toy poodle before!”
“You were always jealous of me, Flanagan. But now it’s really starting to show.” Ian’s eyes crinkled with cruel amusement.
“Jealous? Like when Shelby Parker dated Tschi and not you. She told me she saw you naked, except there was nothing to see. Heh.” Nick wanted a fight. Nick wanted to smash his face into Ian’s. He’d take any excuse. “Better shut that filthy mouth and never talk about my friends. And get your sorry, creepy ass away from these kids.” Nearly ten years had done nothing to quell the inferno that began with Don Anders’s death. Ian had treated Luca and Don like cops treated unleashed toy dog breeds – like they were the final boss in a video game that required the most aggressive response possible.
To anyone else, Nick would have seemed unreasonable, unhinged, and he didn’t care. He’d come a long way in controlling his temper since high school. Or at least he’d like to think so. He had to put up with customers asking to use coupons that were five years old, then demanding the manager, children knocking over displays… But someone behind years of harassment and the murder of one’s best friend was more than Nick could handle.
He shouted and slammed a fist into the brick, blood spraying across his face. He didn’t care; he wouldn’t be arrested for punching the store.
Ian turned and strode away, lifting his radio to his lips. “I’m gonna need backup. Eddie’s. Bituminous Boulevard. White-male, mid-twenties, acting erratically, and two underage white males smoking and loit—”
Nick kicked the radio from his hand, his right knee feeling like putty as his sneaker connected with the bottom of the small device.
The phone vibrated in Nick’s pocket. The cops would take his phone if he were arrested. He had seven missed messages from Tschida:
[Don’t say or do anything stupid.
[Smile until he leaves.
[Nick?
[Nick??
[Did you do something stupid??
[Call me!
[Nick?!]
Nick sucked in a deep breath as he reviewed the message. The call log displayed he’d missed four calls from Tschida. Was Tschida worried about him? He tried to imagine anything other than cold stoicism on his best friend’s face, but had no idea what that would look like. Even at Don’s funeral, Tschida had stared dispassionately at the empty grave, keeping his thoughts to himself.
Nick typed back: [I’m not arrested. Ian is pushing his luck. I’ll figure something out. He’s trying to arrest the kids from St. Jonahs for smoking.]
Nick couldn’t stop thinking of Don’s and Tschida’s arrests. Only one of them had returned after being locked up in county.
Tschida: [
[Tell him the thin blue line is clever, almost as clever as the eagle.
[Then tell him you’re dealing with something. Make up whatever you’re dealing with. Tell him your flower beds have been vandalized. You need Butch to help with that – keep these garden vandals off the streets.]
“You know backup will be coming,” Ian said, picking up the radio with a sigh.
Nick could lose his job, lose his future, lose his family. Tschida had been right. He needed to keep a cool head. And how disappointed would Tschida be in him if he were arrested for something as dumb as this?
“Look.” Nick held up his hands, palms facing Ian. He hunched his shoulders, trying to look as non-threatening as possible at his 6’7” height. “I’m sorry. I’m just…dealing with stuff.”
“You’re dealing with stuff, so you interfered with an officer’s duty and threatened an officer?” Ian scoffed, but he didn’t reach for his gun.
Nick had expected him to do so. He couldn’t imagine the Ian he knew not using any chance he could to shoot him or any of his friends. Ian and his old man had arranged Don’s death.
Why couldn’t he think as quickly on his feet as Luca and Tschida? Luca had been an A and B student, and Tschida had solid A’s. It’s not that I can’t think on my feet, but everything that’s coming to mind involves my knuckles and Ian’s teeth. He thought about Tschida’s texts. “I haven’t had much sleep, all right? Damned vandals are destroying my garden. You have any idea how hard it is to keep anything growing with all the rain we’ve been having?” He thought back to some of his favorite horror movies and some ominous acts of vandalism that had occurred early on, right when the family first settled into their suspiciously cheap haunted house. How could he relate that to flowers? “Some asshole beheaded my sunflowers, and left the decapitated heads in front of my door.”
“You’re a gardener now? You?” Ian looked Nick up and down with a smirk.
“Uh, yeah. The hell’s wrong with gardening? You know it’s better to grow your own foods if you can, and sunflower seeds are a crazy healthy snack.” Didn’t Ian know this stuff? “You don’t believe me? You can check out my sunflowers that are as tall as me, even though they’re headless now.” Remember to behead the sunflowers when I get home. Just the thought made him cringe. But at least his herbs and vegetables would be okay. “Like you said, I’m minimum wage. Cuts costs, too. So, yeah, damaging my garden is messing with my budget. It isn’t some dumb joke.”
“Your father probably has a lot of voters who would be upset by such wanton property damage,” said a soft, calm, but confident voice. Tschida strode from around the side of the building, the breeze brushing the straight strands of hair that fell over his pale brow and fluttered against the collar of his button-down. His lips curved in a cold smile as he slipped his glasses up in his nose. “It’s been a long time, Ian. I see you’re thriving on the force.”
Ian stared at Tschida, not saying a word. He studied Tschida’s polo, neatly tucked into khaki shorts that revealed powerful leg muscles. Tschida always managed to look so put-together. Even after a fight where Nick would be red-faced and panting, Tschida brushed off his clothes, as if nothing had happened. The only clue might be beads of sweat on a brow that was mostly hidden by wispy black locks.
“Tschida, what are you doing here?” Nick asked.
“It was on my way home from Badger Vale. I know you’re not usually busy at this time, so suspected a social call wouldn’t be inconvenient.”
“Y-you hang out a country club?” Ian asked, looking away from Tschida as if uncomfortable. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised, not after…” He let his voice trail off. After what? “But you’re insane. How do they allow--?”
“Really, Ian, that was almost ten years ago,” Tschida said, still smiling and serene. “I’d like to think we’ve all grown since then.” Was Tschida really pretending like Ian hadn’t had anything to do with Don’s death? Or worse, like Don’s death didn’t matter? “And, if you’re referring to our little scuffle so long ago, everyone at Badger Vale has some dirt on their hands.”
“Scuffle?” Ian rubbed the scar at his temple. Nick hadn’t noticed it until now, but that was right; Ian had come to school with a bandage on his head for a few weeks after the incident. “You nearly killed me. And now Flanagan called you to be backup? I called for backup, too.”
“This isn’t high school, Ian,” Tschida said. “But, I can attest that Nick has had an unfortunate time with vandals, but hasn’t thought the matter worth the attention of the police. It’s been going on since late May. Even if you don’t understand the importance of Nick’s garden to him, you can understand how uncomfortable it is to have strangers prowling around your property, damaging something valuable to you.”
Ian glanced over his shoulder at Blaze and Billy, who waited patiently for whatever fate, in the guise of an officer, would hand them. Why wouldn’t he look at Tschida? “Like Flanagan broke my radio?”
“I’ll save you the trouble of writing a ticket or pressing charges,” Tschida said, opening his wallet. It was bursting with green. Without removing the wad from his wallet, he counted several bills and offered them to Ian.
Ian took a step back. “Is this a bribe?”
“No. He broke something, and I have no idea the cost,” Tschida said. “I’d rather this be resolved without any hassle. If it’s more than what the radio costs, then, by all means, consider it a campaign donation.” Tschida’s jaw tightened on those last words, something so small, but Tschida was always good at keeping his emotions in check.
Ian eyed the bills, still not looking at Tschida’s face. “Fine. I’ll need you to sign a paper that says you donated.”
“That won’t be a problem. Now, when your backup arrives, would you please tell them this matter is resolved? A shouting match between old rivals is…an inconsequential incident when there are vandals and shootings in the city. Focusing on those matters would be to your father’s benefit, too. And yours. True or not, if word got out about this incident, the Sanderson campaign could spin it that you’re using the police to settle personal grudges. Our high school was large, and the bad blood between you and Nick wasn’t exactly a secret.” Tschida smiled a little wider. “And, alas, you even have some detractors at Badger Vale.”
“Fine, Tschi—Tschida,” Ian said reluctantly, staring at his shoes. Was Ian still afraid of Tschida?
“I’m glad we could come to a gentlemanly agreement. Why don’t you get that paperwork for me, and I’ll fix your father’s sign?” The wind ruffled the hair over Tschida’s brow, blowing it from his piercing brown eyes.
Ian grunted in assent and strode toward his car.
“You didn’t have to come,” Nick muttered as Tschida held open the door of the store.
“I am not having you arrested,” Tschida said, retrieving the fallen poster. “Remember what happened to Don? I don’t care if I have to empty my wallet and my bank account to prevent that from happening, so please, keep rein on your temper.”
“How is it so easy for you? How can you just smile at him?” Nick shuffled his feet as he hooked his thumbs in his pockets. Now he just felt embarrassed that Tschida was able to come in and resolve this all so easily.
“Because the alternative is worse,” Tschida said. “Please get me some glass cleaner and tape.”
It figured Tschida would remove all the ads on the door and clean it before reapplying them with the Janowski campaign sign in the center. He did it all with a detached air, as if he were filing papers, or organizing a sock drawer. Tschida was the only person he knew with an organized sock drawer. He didn’t even pay any mind to the officers that arrived and spoke with Ian. Nick forced himself not to watch, too, in case Janowski changed his mind.
“Why is Eddie supporting someone like him?” Nick muttered.
“Because he wants police protection. If you don’t think the Janowskis would remember what businesses didn’t support Butch, you’d be wrong. I can almost guarantee they’d take a little longer to get to those businesses in case of a holdup.”
“I thought you were working at Badger Vale,” Nick said, changing the subject. He turned the vape pens in the display case so they faced outward. “Did you make friends there or something?”
“Acquaintances,” Tschida said, though his cheeks flushed. Was Tschida more exhausted than he let on? “But, perhaps not unhelpful ones.”
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