Dumb.
But the way Gator had worked it out was…well…nothing short of fucking brilliant.
For him, at least.
Gator wheeled up the drive of the dark house hooded with gables where old Tom Klumpe never used to give the kids candy on Halloween; where, in fact, Gator and Keith, twelve years old, had set a bag of cow pies on fire on Tom’s doormat one Halloween and rung the bell.
He parked the truck and trudged up the porch steps, heard the loud beat of voice-over aerobic music. Anticipating the bittersweet headache he’d have by the time he left, he rang the bell.
The music stopped, and a moment later Cassie opened the door. She still looked great on the outside, but her eyes gave away the inside; two empty blue holes screaming to be filled. She was barefoot, wearing these little red gym shorts that rode up, revealing the start of her rear end. Her white tube top was damp and clingy with sweat. She had her hair heaped in a wild pony spray, fastening by a silver headband. Seeing the tallowy perspiration on her throat and arms still could halt his breath.
“You must have the heat turned way up,” he said.
“What?” she said.
“That outfit.”
“I was doing an exercise tape. C’mon in,” she said, staring at his left hand. The way his fingers curled, holding something. Noting her attention, he withdrew the hand, put it behind his back. “Hey, don’t tease me, now,” she pouted, moving into his path, grabbing for his hand. They bumped torsos, then the sibling roughhouse got stuck hot at the hips. She reached around, trying to catch his hand.
“Hey, not so needy,” Gator danced to the side, grinning, leaning back, loving the unbridled covetousness surging in her eyes. “You’re starting to like this stuff way too much, probably should taper you off…”
“Gimme,” Cassie demanded, flinging both arms around him, grasping.
“Said you just wanted to lose some weight. Looks to me like you lost it,” Gator now held his hand straight in the air, making her go up on tiptoes. “Okay, you can have it if you promise me you’ll stop-”
“Christsake, Gator, stop playing games.”
“Promise me.”
“Okay, I promise,” she said, heaving her eyes.
Gator let the folded square of Reynold’s Wrap drop from his palm. It glittered between them and landed on the floor. She immediately stooped and snatched it up, and as she started back up, he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, holding her face level with his belt buckle.
Then he removed his hand and stepped back. Serious now. “Don’t go smoking this stuff, you understand,” he said.
“Not me,” she said, making the packet disappear in the waistband of her shorts.
“So how’s Teddy doing?” Gator said, staring at her throat, feeling his temples start to throb.
“He’s okay, upstairs finishing his homework.”
“Jimmy?”
“In the basement, watching an old Vikes-Packer game on Teevo.”
“Get him,” Gator said with muted authority, not taking off his coat. “You both should hear this.”
Cassie padded off across the barnlike living room with the old brown leather chairs and couch she hated and called down the stairwell, “Jimmy, Gator’s here.” Then she hurried toward the kitchen, where Gator heard the door to the downstairs bathroom close.
While he waited, Gator looked over the living room, then the dining room with its lace curtains, framed duck stamps, and clubfooted oak table. No wonder she was half nuts, living in this museum with Jimmy, doing her Buns of Steel tapes.
She kept it clean, though. Wasn’t at all like Mom in that regard, except that she married a drunk.
Jimmy came up the stairs with a tall water glass of Jack Daniel’s. His eyes were a medium blur at 8:00 P.M. Little dots of crumbly yellow junk food were smeared on his T-shirt. Popcorn maybe. When Cassie walked back into the dining room, she was much improved.
“Sit down,” Gator said, indicating the dining room table with a toss of his right hand.
They sat.
“I had a look at your Broker guy,” Gator said.
“And?” Cassie said. “Was I right?”
“You got no idea how right,” Gator said, grinning, unable to suppress his pleasure.
Jimmy and Cassie exchanged looks. “So, what?” Cassie said.
“I got in his house and looked around. Saw some stuff. I think he was a cop down in the cities,” Gator said.
“Jesus,” Jimmy muttered and stared glumly into his glass. “You think he knows?”
“Not sure what he’d doing here. But I got an idea how to find out,” Gator said. “The thing with Teddy, where you want that to go?”
“We want an apology, right,” Jimmy said, glancing at Cassie, who nodded her agreement. “But a cop, jeez, I dunno…”
“Okay, here’s the deal. I got a job for you.” Gator leveled his eyes on Jimmy like he was a trusted lieutenant. “Jimmy, I need you to mess with him a little, just kid stuff.”
“Like what kind of stuff?” Jimmy said, sitting up straighter. Cassie, her color up, her eyes now full and steamy, watched the play between the two men. Real curious.
“In the morning your guys pick up on Twelve, right?” Gator said.
“Yeah.”
“So, you take the route, get there early when he’s taking the kid to school, and do that trick with the mechanical claw so you tip over his garbage, fling it along the ditch. So he sees you. Do it so it looks like he put it out wrong.”
“I can do that,” Jimmy said.
“Just some little crap to drive the guy nuts, but not so he can prove anything. If he comes at you again, it’ll give Keith something to do. You know how he loves to play Mr. In-Between.”
Jimmy nodded. “Shoulda been a Lutheran minister, like his dad.”
“Yeah,” Gator said. “Plus, Keith’s having a bad winter, since he had to put out that ordinance keeping trucks and sleds off the lake ’cause it didn’t completely freeze over.”
“Might cost him the election,” Jimmy nodded.
“Yeah,” Gator said, “needs something to do, so maybe if it gets going back and forth between you and
