LAST RESORT

Part 15

“Pick up the damn phone, Jared,” Ray Klein muttered, words muffled by the cheap drywall as he stalked back into the break room. He shoved his Samsung deep into his pocket like he wished he could shove Jared in there, too, and forget about him.

Lope Sanchez and Daryl Gallagher sat hunched over a battered folding table in the corner, their cards spread between them, the yellow overhead light turning the piles of cheap beer cans and ashtray sludge into something almost holy. Lope didn’t even look up; he just dragged on his smoke and blew it sideways, the plume drifting toward the Pepsi machine that hadn’t worked in two years.

KY Patriot Landscaping was closed for the day. The battered “CLOSED” sign taped crookedly in the dusty window, but everyone knew that didn’t mean a thing. Nobody ever really left as soon as the sun went down. Not Ray, not Lope, not Daryl, and not Nina Travers, who’d staked her half of the building for her squealing, broken laptops and orphaned TVs of Travers Electronics & Repairs. Thanks to her, Kevin Yates could afford to sub-lease the entire building for both of their businesses. Unlike KY’s, hers was still open.

It was their second home; their little outpost at the dead end of Bartlett Lane. Hanging out, playing some cards, watching the games on ESPN, or drinking a couple of cans of beer from the fridge, which Kevin always kept stocked.

The building sat at the outskirts of Point Hope, along with a handful of businesses that dotted this stretch of the road. Although they didn’t receive much free advertising from road traffic, the building’s rent was very cheap. Further down the road were a Subway, a Starbucks, and a Chipotle. There were at least four shipping and trucking businesses that occupied the much more expensive lots, and a Chinese Restaurant that seemed to have an empty parking lot since it opened, with not many customers (and for which Lope and Ray already believed could be a front for a gang, possibly for the Triad).

Across the cracked asphalt from KY was the impound lot where Daryl lived like a raccoon among rusting Toyotas and stripped Camrys. He’d cobbled together an apartment above his workshop. He wasn’t supposed to do that, but it's not like the sheriff’s going to arrest him anytime soon for living inside a commercial lot that wasn’t zoned for mixed-use. Everyone’s got enough problems already, and Point Hope PD was notorious for being lazy. Small towns and all its charms, and the sheriff had better things to do than give a damn about Daryl Gallagher.

Daryl had the thick forearms and brick shoulders of a man who’d done honest work all his life: brawny, broad, and stubborn as a stump. His hair was a mean, fading red that matched the fox-colored goatee hanging under his bottom lip. His eyes were green, the clear, sharp green of bottle glass, and when he looked at you, you got the sense he saw more than you’d like. He has that effect on strangers, but once you get to know him, he’s not so bad.

Ray dropped into his chair with a grunt, the metal legs squealing under him. He picked at the corner of a beer label, half-listening to Lope grind his teeth around a breath mint.

“Nothing?” Lope asked.

“Nope. No answer,” Ray said.

“Try him again,” Lope said.

“I’ve called him a thousand goddamn times, dude,” Ray spat. He waved his hand, a gesture big enough to almost knock over Daryl’s bottle. “If he ain’t answering now, he ain’t gonna answer.”

“You didn’t try hard enough,” Daryl said from under the brim of his dust-colored cap. He always sounded like he’d just woken up.

Ray flicked him the finger, then pointed it at Lope. “You fucking call him. My data’s getting close to capping.”

Lope picked up his own phone, and thumbed Jared’s number. He put it on speaker so they could all hear the dead hum of the call bouncing into voicemail.

Lope’s lip curled. “Mailbox is full.”

Ray leaned back and let the cheap folding chair creak under his weight, smug as a fat dog on a porch. “See? Told ya.”

Lope’s shoulders bunched up, and for a second, it looked like he might slam the phone against the wall out of frustration. Instead, he lit a cigarette. Daryl shuffled the deck with a flick-flick-flick.

The three of them—Jared, Ray, and Lope—were supposed to be hauling dirt and pulling up roots in Mrs. Sasaki’s backyard today; a half-acre of dry weeds, flower beds, and dogshit that Kevin had promised would be easy money. But Jared never showed. Kevin was off, sweet-talking some rich British guy he had met at the bar out at North Cedar Lake, and now the whole day was shot to hell. What was supposed to take two hours lasted five, and Ray could feel the creeping sunburn at the nape of his neck.

“Ha! I won again, fellas!” Daryl exclaimed.

Daryl leaned back in his chair, a grin splitting his pale, ruddy face as he laid out his winning hand: a flush, all hearts. Lope squinted at the cards, then at Daryl’s smug smile. He spat to the side and muttered under his breath, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Pinche güero de mierda… ni sabes jugar, nomás tienes suerte.”

Daryl barked a laugh, raking in the pot with those long, bony fingers while Lope glared at him.

“You’re lucky this ain’t real money, Mex,” Daryl said.

“Third time in a row, man. Lose a little,” Lope said. “And don’t call me Mex. I’m Guatemalan.”

“Bah. Same Beach. Same sand. Same sun.”

“Not to me, white man.”

“And I’m forty-six years old. I just don’t know how to lose, baby. Never bet on Daryl-Dollar-Buster. The DDB.”

“Please don’t call yourself that. Sounds icky,” Ray said, scrunching his face with disgust.

“Didn’t you lose half your life savings from a casino up at the reservation?” Lope jabbed, smirking now. He liked drawing a little blood back.

Daryl waved him off, ignoring his jibe. “Wanna play with real cash now? Might change your luck, boy.”

“Fuck. You. I’m gonna get another beer. Want one?”

“Yeah, get me some of that good cold beer. None of that hippie bullshit, okay?”

Ray—who’d been watching all this —leaned back in his seat and said, “Daryl, you ever think maybe this is why you’re still single? Gambling’s a disease, man.”

“Ask my ex-wives what they think.”

“They already got your money, fool. Half of it’s in child support,” Lope called over his shoulder, rummaging in the fridge now.

Daryl shrugged. “My kids are dumb as fuck. Sometimes I look at ’em and can’t believe they shot outta my dick. Half the time, I don’t think they even look like me!”

Ray grinned. “What? Because they actually have a soul?”

Daryl forced out a fake laugh. “Oh, ho, someone’s still got ginger jokes in their arsenal. I certainly haven’t heard that before. How fucking original. Come on—a hundred on the pot won’t kill anybody.”

Ray snorted, one brow arched high. “Open Google News once in a while, old man. Economy’s shit right now. You think I got a hundred bucks to throw away?”

Daryl leaned forward. “Well, if you boys’d stop harassing families at funerals—”

Ray’s head snapped up. “Hey. You better not say that shit when Kevin’s around. You wanna keep what’s left of your goddamn teeth?”

“That hurts my feelings, Ray. I just got a new dentist.”

“Then don’t mention it again.”

But Daryl wasn’t intimidated, kept needling, and couldn’t help himself. “I heard Carl’s been sniffing around Kevin for that lease money. Pocket’s getting tight?”

Ray and Lope shared a look. “If we get that job from that gringo up on the mountains, we’ll survive,” Lope said.

“Nina’s been helping out on her side of things,” Ray said. “She got more business than we have as of late. Lots of electronics and appliances are going haywire or something. For a smart microwave, it doesn’t seem smart to only last a couple of years.”

“Oh, yeah? For how long? A month? End of winter?” Daryl chuckled. “Hey, if things don’t pan out, you boys can work for me. We get along quite well. I’ll teach you the ways. I break and strip those cars out there, sell what I find, and some of the spare parts get me a nice green stack by the end of the week. Plenty enough to share.”

Ray and Lope didn’t say anything.

“Welp, offer’s open if you need it.”

“Are we gonna play or what?” Lope said, desperately trying to change the subject.

A couple of minutes later, Nina Travers pushed open the door into the back room with her shoulder, the hinges giving a single tired rattle like it, too, was ready to call it quits for the night. She paused on the threshold, the room beyond thick with the smell of stale beer, cigarettes, and the flick-snap of playing cards slapping the scarred tabletop. Ray, Lope, and Daryl didn’t look up, too intent on whatever half-hearted poker war they were waging to notice her shadow stretch across the linoleum.

Nina crossed the room with a quiet sigh. The day had hung on her like a wet coat. Mrs. Driscoll’s ancient laptop was refusing to boot, then booting, then dying again, the poor old thing probably holding thirteen years of family photos that Nina knew she’d stay up half the night trying to rescue. She hated it when her customers cried in front of her.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Oh, please. You have to do something! All my memories are in there!” Mrs. Driscoll pleaded. “All of my grandchildren’s pictures on Disney Cruise are in there! I didn’t make copies because I thought it was in the cloud. My daughter-in-law tells me so. Do you know what a cloud is, Ms. Travers? I didn’t know that I’m supposed to have an account for it!”

She was no miracle worker, but when the fucking laptop decided that it’s probably its time to die, then she couldn’t do a fuck about it. But she couldn’t really tell that to Mrs. Driscoll’s face. And there’s usually a sixty percent chance she could salvage the hard drive if the damn thing turned on for at least an hour before crashing. Again, she was no miracle worker.

Nina wished her dad were still alive. Now he was a miracle worker.

She opened the fridge with a grunt, found her can of Sprite wedged behind someone’s greasy takeaway box, and cracked it open. The hiss of carbonation was soft but satisfying. She tipped her head back and drank half of it in one swallow.

In the pale overhead light, she looked almost ghostly: thirty-three years old, long brown hair scraped into a loose bun that looked like it might collapse any second. Her glasses sat slightly crooked on her nose, smudged with fingerprints from wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. The sleeves of her oatmeal-colored sweater fell over her wrists, hiding the ink smudges and tiny burns that marked her fingers. She was a little soft around the middle (not that she minded), and when she leaned back against the counter, the refrigerator door thunking shut beside her, she felt every ounce of her day settle into her bones. She gave the three men at the table a flat look that said, Deal me in or don’t. I’ve had a long fucking day.

Ray raised an eyebrow as Daryl dealt her some cards. “You okay, Nina?”

“Same shit as always, Ray.”

“Tell me about it. Jared didn’t show up for work.”

“He’s probably dead,” Nina joked.

“He better be, or I’ll kill that fucker myself. The one day in November when we have a seventy-degree, no cloud in the damn sky weather. What are the chances?” Ray said.

“Good for you for enjoying the sun at least. I was stuck in here all day, and today’s our last day we get it. It’s all clouds, rain, and snow until April.”

Another couple of minutes later, the main entrance door in the other room banged open with a flat, hollow thunk that cut through the low hum. A moment later, they heard it; the unmistakable clack-clack-clack of Sheila’s heels on linoleum, sharp as a nail tapping glass.

“Uh-oh. That’s Sheila,” Nina hissed.

As if on cue, Sheila’s head poked through the doorway. “Hey boys…and, oh, Nina…is Kevin here yet?”

Lope glanced at his watch. “Nope. Should be back anytime, though.”

Sheila groaned. “Ugh! I texted him like a million hours ago.” She gave the room a once-over that made Ray shift in his chair and Daryl grin around the stub of his cigarette. Nina was already done with her. “Fine. I’ll wait here, or whatever.”

Sheila came all the way into the room and dropped herself onto the plaid couch at the far end. She wore a shiny leopard-print halter top that barely contained her chest, the cheap fabric stretched so tight you could almost hear the seams begging for help. Her jeans were acid-washed, ripped at the knees, and so tight they looked painted on. She’d thrown a cheap faux-fur jacket over her shoulders: white, with matted patches from years in thrift-store bins. Clear plastic heels, toes done in neon pink polish. Big hoop earrings. A fake gold chain that spelled out CHANEL swung above her cleavage.

She looked every bit the kind of trouble Kevin liked to show off, and precisely the sort of problem the rest of the crew pretended not to watch when she bent over.

“Can I have a Coke, please?” Sheila asked.

“Go get it yourself. I’m not your maid,” Lope said.

Sheila frowned. “But I already sat down…”

“Fine.” Lope went back to grab a can of Coca-Cola for her. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks! You’re so sweet.”

“Where the fuck are you going, anyway?”

“It’s called a date night, Lope? Ever heard of that?”

“I regret that I asked.”

“Well, Kevin and I are going out of town to a fancy Italian restaurant in Tigard, and then we’re going to watch The Marvels on IMAX. There’s no IMAX theaters here in town, so we’re gonna take that long drive to one in Bridgeport.”

Lope scrunched his face. “But Kevin doesn’t like Captain Marvel.”

“But she’s my fav! And he wants to get laid tonight. So we compromised.”

“It’s not the movie. It’s the mall,” Daryl whispered. “You sound like my ex-wife. No offense.”

“None taken. I don’t know her,” Sheila said and took a sip of her Coke. “And yes. He promised me I could go shopping. He says he’s got an expensive job lined up.”

Nina rolled her eyes. “Um, where’s Kate, Sheila?”

“Working since Wendy’s in California. Oh! I gotta tell you something. Did you know she’s going on a date with someone?”

“With Jared? Finally?” Ray asked.

“No, not finally! Ew. My sister won’t touch him even when they’re in the same room, much less across a table. What makes you think she’s going to say yes?”

“Who is it, then?”

“Apparently, that hot British guy from last night asked her out, and they’re going to a dinner date tomorrow here in town, which is very exciting. I never really thought my sister has game, you know? She always has the romantic presence of a lady with six cats.”

“Well, will you look at that?” Daryl nodded, amused. “You boys are also working for him soon.”

“Yeah, if Kevin gets the job,” Ray said.

“But isn’t it exciting? My sister is dating a genuinely handsome millionaire gentleman? Although he kind of hinted that he might be royalty, too. Imagine my sister as a royal,” Sheila said giddily, but there was a hint of jealousy laced in those words. The boys didn’t seem to catch it. Nina, however, scoffed.

Kevin’s truck rumbled up the gravel outside, everyone in the back room heard it, and just like that, the air shifted. The engine cut off with a cough that echoed down the block.

“Welp, speaking of the devil…” Daryl drawled.

Less than a minute later, the entrance door chimed, and Kevin walked into the back room, strode toward Sheila, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. He turned around and gave everyone a curt nod.

“Sup, baby? All ready to go?” Kevin asked.

“Yep. Didn’t wait too long,” Sheila purred.

Ray’s voice cut in before she could nuzzle closer. “Yo. So we're good? With the job?”

Kevin turned around and frowned. It was all for show, of course. Then, his lips curled into a shit-eating grin and a big thumbs up. “Yeah, boys, we got the fucking job.”

“Really? On the spot?” Lope couldn’t believe it. Nowadays, it sometimes took their clients a day or two, sometimes a week, to think about their quoted price if they could afford it, or to hear another quote from somewhere else.

“Hired right away, actually. Who’s gonna say no when they already got the best?”

Ray clapped Kevin’s shoulders. “Hey, if you’re that rich, why listen to someone else? Shit, man. How much are we talking?”

Kevin rocked back on his heels, milking it. He loved this part when all the attention was on him. “Three weeks. Forty K when we wrap. Half up front. Materials are already covered, he said.”

“Forty grand?” Ray nearly toppled his chair backwards.

Nina smiled. “Maybe you can finally pay your side of the rent, eh, Kev?”

“It’s coming, it’s coming, Electro Queen.”

“You betcha. It’s due in like two weeks.”

Lope’s mouth twitched. “And he didn’t even negotiate?” Lope asked, suspicion curling in his throat.

Kevin shrugged, that grin glued in place. “Hey, it’s a big part of the property we’re working on. A hedge maze. They got money to burn, I guess. The guy’s assistant handled it. Jessica, or Jennifer—whatever. Oh! Roy Sherman works for them now, too. Did you know that?”

“He wasn’t there to handle the deal?” Lope asked.

Kevin shook his head. “He’s in Portland doing some business or some shit. I didn’t want to be nosy and made her think I’m some creep.”

Daryl’s head snapped up from the deck he’d been shuffling, eyes twinkling behind his fox grin. “Roy Sherman? Budweiser Roy? You’re shitting me. I thought he was Mike’s go-fer up on sixth.”

“Guess he quit. He’s their butler now. Has been for weeks, he says.”

Daryl laughed. “Shut the front door. Our

Roy Sherman. A butler?” Daryl’s laugh turned into a cackle. “Cheese and crackers, that is the funniest shit I’ve ever heard. That man can’t even stand straight without slouching, nor have table manners since he’s twelve.”

“He probably makes more than we do,” Nina said, her voice half-bored.

“Well, good for him, that son of a bitch owes me money,” Daryl said. “Here I thought only pompous English people could be butlers.”

“Hillbilly butlers,” Nina added.

Sheila leaned into Kevin. “Babe, can we go now? Our reservation is waiting and I’m really hungry. And also, we should totally celebrate this tonight.”

Kevin whirled around and gave Sheila a kiss on the lips. “Start the car for me. I’ll go wash and change in the office real quick. I’ve been wearing this shirt all day.”

“Okay. Don’t take too long.” Sheila grabbed his keys and walked out of the room.

Ray cleared his throat. “By the way, Jared’s not answering our calls.”

“Oh. He’s sick. Covid. He texted me earlier in the morning. I thought I texted you.”

Ray bit his lip. “Nope. I didn’t get it.”

Kevin fished out his phone and looked at his screen. “Shit. Sorry, man. The text didn’t get through for some reason. Well, he’s got Covid and can’t be in for the rest of the week.”

“What a wuss. Everyone’s got Covid nowadays, and you don’t hear me bitching about it.”

“You got the cold last time, not Covid,” Daryl said. “Probably an STI.”

“Shut up, Daryl. Deal the fucking cards.”

Daryl chuckled, amused. “Here ya go, pussycat.”

Lope caught Kevin by the arm just as he was about to slip into his cramped office. Kevin froze, hand on the knob, eyes flicking back over his shoulder.

“Hey, since we’re working for that man—”

“—Mr. Duncan,” Kevin corrected.

“—Mr. Duncan, yeah. We’re gonna be a man short with Jared not around. And this sounds pretty last minute. I actually know a couple of guys who can—”

“—I’ll ask my nephew if he can work with us,” Kevin interrupted.

Lope almost want to laugh. “Xavier’s got smooth fingers, boss. No offense.”

“Xavier plays football and baseball. He can handle it. And if he doesn’t want to work, then I’ll make him work. The boy doesn’t even go to school anymore since my mother’s homeschooling them. This is an important job, and I think my mom will agree.”

But something bothered Lope. “Hey, is everything alright?”

Kevin raised his brows, the corner of his mouth curling into that same grin he used on customers to turn up the dial of his charm. “What’s that?”

“I’ve known you a long time, man. What’s going on with you?”

“Don’t start, Lope. I’ll tell you tomorrow, alright? Get everyone together at Remley’s. My treat. First round, hell, maybe the second too. Invite Nina.”

“Why?”

“Poor girl hasn’t been out in a while, and I also want to ask her something. Maybe Daryl, too. Do you know if Kate is working tomorrow?”

“Nope, she’s got a date with that British dude. But that’s not what I meant why.” Lope didn’t move. He crossed his arms, blocking the crack in the door. “What is it? You find something up there?”

Kevin’s grin froze into something almost thoughtful. For a second, he seemed to be somewhere else, maybe up in that gutted old asylum now turned mansion with its fancy stone floors, chandeliers, and echoing large halls. He could almost see the heavy steel door again of that vault (he was sure it was a vault), the way it swung open just wide enough for him to catch that glint in the half-dark chamber when the woman gave him a tour of the property. Not money exactly, but something better. Something that rattled around inside him like a coin in an empty jar.

“Have you ever thought about leaving this place?” Kevin said suddenly, his voice softer than it had been before. “Just…packing up. Going somewhere warm. Somewhere nice. All the money in the world. Never looking back.”

Lope snorted. “What the hell’s that gotta do with anything, man?”

Kevin snapped out of it. The grin was back. “Tomorrow, okay? Go drink your beer. Turn on the TV and watch Monday Night Football. I’m still subscribed to ESPN. Keep Ray and Nina from betting real money with Daryl on the table. I got plans to make with my girl tonight.”

Before Lope could squeeze out another word, Kevin slipped inside the office and pulled the door shut behind him. Lope sucked his teeth, muttered something under his breath, and turned back toward the poker table. Lope settled back into his chair, scraped it closer to the table, and grabbed the cards already dealt for him.

“What’s that all about?” Nina said, nodding her head toward the closed office door.

“It just gives me the creeps.”

“What gives you the creeps?” Daryl asked as he took a big sip of his beer.

“The mansion up on the lake? I don’t know. I just don’t recall ever going up there, you know?” Or seeing it, or remembering seeing it, but he didn’t say that out loud.

“It’s always been up there. At least someone’s got the money to freaking turn it into a mansion. Heck, I wish I could afford to live like that,” Ray said.

“I know,” Lope said, picking at a dent in the table’s edge. “But…” He stopped. It was right there at the tip of his tongue, but it slipped away like a fish wriggling back into the dark waters. “Forget it. I just don’t like creepy places. Gives me a bad feeling. Especially when it involves a place like that. Could you imagine what the patients went through when that shit got shut down during the riot? How many of the patients and the staff died?”

Nina let out a soft snort. “You and your damn superstitions, Lope. I swear, you’d sprinkle holy water on your food if your mom told you to.”

Lope cracked a grin. “I can’t help it, I grew up Catholic.”

“I’m Catholic, too, dumbass.”

Daryl drummed his thick fingers on the table, ready to begin playing another round. “Place is just an old pile of bricks. A rich weirdo bought and renovated it. So what if there’s creepy psycho ghosts, and doctors, and nurses? Money’s money. Just do the job, earn some cash, and get out. Maybe at some point, we’d play poker with real cash this time.”

Ray grabbed the cards in front of him. “Yeah, just don’t piss off any crazy ghosts while we’re up there, Lope, okay?”