Interpreter for the Dead Page 6

  "Glad I inspire such rabid displays of devotion."

  "She's been kind of out of it since Lady died."

  "Lady?"

  "Her sister. Lady was Brandy's sister. We gave her to your dad after your mom passed away."

  And I left.

  "She's buried over there." A boulder in the backyard marked the spot. A gravestone for a dog Michael Dane had never seen.

  "Your dad buried her there the day before he died. I think it was too much for him."

  An uncomfortable silence fell. He could feel the years hang between them.

  "It's been a long time Michael."

  Dane immediately sensed where the conversation was about to go. He knew it couldn't be avoided.

  "I'm sorry about your Dad. He was a good man."

  He dismissed the sentiment.

  "How'd it happen?" He involuntarily cringed at the morbid sound of the question, but he felt compelled to know.

  Her face twisted slightly, the pain still fresh for her.

  "I-"

  She stopped, unsure how to continue.

  "He'd paged me for help. For a doctor."

  That'd be a first.

  "I was too far away, visiting a sick foal. I called 911...but they got here too late. I found him halfway to the barn. He was already gone." Her voice caught a little, and she paused to compose herself.

  He started to respond, but was interrupted by the screech of car brakes. The dog turned at the same time, torn between keeping an eye on Dane and checking out the new threat.

  A sedan had bypassed the farmer's market lot and pulled up right to the house.

  "Easy Brandy. Stay."

  AJ followed Dane's gaze - white Chevy Impala with government plates. Two stooges hopped out and headed around to the front door.

  "Looks like you got company."

  Chapter 9

  He hobbled down the driveway towards the house, feeling like Rip Van Winkle. He'd fallen asleep and awakened years later, out of place, out of time.

  He gazed up at the sky. Veiled by the haze, the gold-red sun only added to the sense of being in some parallel universe, of everything being just a little bit - off.

  Like the government car in his driveway. It could only be the parole officer he would have to report to until the trial. Pre-trial supervision. Free, but not free.

  So much for innocent until proven guilty.

  He was lucky to be out at all. In a few months all this would be behind him. He'd sell the place, pay his bills and leave Colorado far behind.

  He rounded the house and found an empty front porch, and the door standing wide open. They wouldn't have just walked in - would they?

  Dane crept in and followed the voices, furious at the invasion. He grabbed a poker from the fireplace, determined to at least scare the shit out of them. He found them in the bathroom.

  There was barely room for two people in there to begin with, so it was going to be interesting.

  "Short on time, always do the bathroom. You'd think they'd be a little more creative, but you'd be wrong."

  Dane shoved the door open, bouncing the knob off the back wall.

  "What the hell are you doing in my house?"

  The kid, wearing a short-sleeve dress shirt and a tie, jumped backwards, knocked a picture off the wall and nearly fell into the bathtub.

  The other guy, dressed like the typical cubicle monkey, barely even looked up. He was leaning over the back of the toilet, holding his cheap tie back with one hand while he fished through the water with the other.

  "You must be Mike."

  The asshole pulled his hand out of the rusty tank and extended it to Dane, still dripping with toilet water.

  "I'm Daryl Spurlitz, your new parole officer. I guess I should say pre-trial supervisor, since you're not a convicted felon, yet. You can call me Mr. Spurlitz."

  Spurlitz looked at his hand hanging in mid-air, and decided to use it as a pointer.

  "This here is a new guy I'm training, call him Mr. Miller."

  Spurlitz went back to digging around the toilet, eyeing Dane's current state of disrepair.

  "We couldn't find you. Never thought to look out in the barn. I was just showing Miller how we shake down a bathroom for controlled substances. You find anything behind there?"

  "Uh, no sir."

  The kid was still trying to straighten the picture he'd knocked off the wall.

  "My supervision doesn't begin until Monday. So feel free to get your asses out of my house." Dane kept the poker raised.

  "Oooh, Mikey, not good."

  Spurlitz put the tank lid back on and wiped his hands off on a towel.

  "Maybe your lawyer didn't have time to go over the details of your supervision with you. Common oversight, most people are so focused on trying not to go to prison and all."

  He pulled a rolled up piece of paper from his back pocket.

  "See here? You have until Monday to report to me. But I know how important the first few hours of being on your own can be, so I figured I'd drop in. You know, make sure you were keeping your nose clean. It's not something I have to do Mike, but let's face it, you obviously haven't done a very good job of looking out for yourself so far. Am I right or am I right?"

  Dane tightened his grip on the poker. Spurlitz frowned.

  "That's a big no-no. No weapons. You got any firearms lying around here, give them to me now. Because if I find one later, well, let's just say - not good."

  "If I had a gun, you'd be the first to know." The insinuation was not lost on Spurlitz.

  "Excuse me for saying so, but you could use a shower. Or maybe the shower doesn't work? Here Miller, check the showerhead out for our new pal. Did you know you're bleeding?"

  "Yeah, I'm aware."

  "You should get something on that before it gets infected. Ain't hardly going to be worth being a millionaire if you only got one leg."

  Spurlitz extracted a pair of vice grips from his pocket and handed them to Miller.

  "I hope you don't take this personal, but I gotta show the kid all the usual hiding places."

  "It's clean, sir." Miller screwed the showerhead back on.

  "Great. I knew it would be. Now pull up the plunger in the sink. Some guys like to put their stuff in balloons and suspend them down inside the drain. I know, I know. Crazy shit."

  Dane read down the paper Spurlitz had handed him. He clenched his teeth, attempting to suppress his anger before it got the best of him.

  "This is bullshit. I'm not charged with any kind of narcotics offense. I've never done a drug in my life."

  Spurlitz slapped the paper with mock disdain.

  "I hear you 'bro. It's not right. It's really not. But I just enforce the rules, I don't make them. Mind if I go through the medicine cabinet while we talk?"

  He checked every bottle and jar, opening them, smelling them. Spurlitz lingered over one of his mother's perfume bottles.

  "Mmmmm. Nice."

  Dane's breathing grew shallow, his nails digging into the palms of his hands.

  "So, as you can see, I have the right to perform unannounced inspections of your personal property whenever I want. That means your place of employment, too. Wait. You don't have a place of employment, do you? It's so hard to keep up on every case."

  Spurlitz put the cap back on the perfume bottle.

  AJ cleared her throat behind Dane.

  "AJ? What are you doing in here?" Her timing was lousy.

  "Hope needed to use the bathroom again." The little girl from earlier was hanging on to AJ's hand, looking up at Dane, enamored. AJ stood on her tiptoes to try and get a look at Spurlitz and his buddy. "What's going on?"

  "Don't worry about it. Just my parole officer marking his territory."

  The little girl spoke to get their attention. She was profoundly deaf, but probably not since birth as she could somewhat pronounce the words.

  "Ah ned go peh."

  "Can we get in there please?" AJ gave Spurlitz the evil eye and he motioned the roo
kie to come out with him.

  "You work with retarded kids? That takes a lot of patience I bet."

  "She's not retarded. She's deaf. In fact, she's probably smarter than you are."

  "There's no doubt about that," Dane chimed in.

  Spurlitz didn't bother to respond as he squeezed uncomfortably close to Dane in order to get back into the hall. It made his skin crawl. The rookie kept his head down, sheepishly following his boss.

  AJ helped Hope into the bathroom and shut the door, while she waited outside in the hall. Dane sensed her eyes boring holes into him as he tried to focus on the parole officer.

  Spurlitz just continued on, unfazed.

  "Hmmmmmm. What were we talking about? Oh yeah, employment. We don't really have to worry about that, because all this property became yours after your dad bought the farm, so to speak. You must feel like shit. I know how I felt when my old man kicked the bucket. Come on, let's get the rest of the house done."

  "I'm sure you were heartbroken," Dane said.

  "Nice place. Old train station, right? Bet your old man never thought it would be worth a few million."

  Spurlitz paused to look at the pictures hanging on the walls, turning them over, putting his ear to them and shaking them.

  "Lots of memories here, I'm sure. Bitch you have to sell it."

  At that moment AJ and Hope passed by on their way back outside. Dane wished she hadn't overheard the remark about selling the place. A look of concern washed over her.

  "Or maybe it ain't. What do I know? I'm just a parole officer."

  "That's none of your business."

  He motioned AJ to leave already. The little girl gave him a quick wave as they went out the door.

  Spurlitz went into the bedroom that had been Michael Dane's parents for over forty years. He had to keep himself from reaching out to stop him from touching their things. His stomach turned as he saw Spurlitz lay hands on things he himself had not seen in years.

  Spurlitz made a show of it.

  Fucker.

  "Hey Mike, you don't have to hang out while we do this, being in mourning and all. Take a shower if you want, I'll call you if I need anything...no? Suit yourself."

  After all this is over...

  Dane mulled over all the nasty things he would do after he got Spurlitz's social security number.

  "Kitchens are a bitch. So many places to hide shit. Could take a team of guys a week to go through it all right." He handed the kid a kitchen drawer.

  "Why don't you save yourself some time and just bring in a dog?" Dane interjected, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  Spurlitz snapped his fingers. "Why didn't I think of that? See kid, been doing this shit for twenty years and I'm still learning new things. Don't forget to check the fridge."

  What kind of person could do this for living? And enjoy it?

  The parole officer circled a machine in the corner, punching buttons.

  "What is this?"

  "Teletypewriter my parents used to communicate with other deaf people."

  "Your parents were deaf too? Jesus. I see those guys handing out cards sometimes. They ask for a dollar, I always give them two - let them keep the card. What the hell do I need to learn sign language for, right? Now I kind of wish I had kept the card. Then me and you would have something in common. Your parents must have sold a lot of cards to buy a place like this, even back in the day."

  "They didn't sell cards."

  Spurlitz's eyes lit up as he registered the anger in Dane's voice. Dane recognized a hint of fear there too. Spurlitz knew he was about to push it too far.

  "Sir, nothing in the refrigerator."

  "Let's do the living room."

  Dane sat down and watched the show.

  "Well," said Spurlitz, looking around hands on hips. "I think we've done all the damage we can. Let's get out of here."

  Spurlitz led them out the front door, and handed him a business card.

  "Here's my card, chief. You need someone to talk to, call me okay?"

  Dane squinted at the card and handed it back.

  "1-800-ASSHOLE. I think I can remember that."

  Spurlitz's face went blank, and then he smiled.

  "Gotta remember that one."

  The kid spotted the old Pullman car around the side. "Is that considered part of the house?"

  "Good eye. Didn't see that driving in."

  Dane shot the kid a withering look as they passed by him. Miller looked away, red faced.

  Spurlitz practically skipped out to the Pullman car, lighting a cigarette on the way.

  "You could turn this place into a museum Mikey, charge five bucks a pop."

  Dane stood in the doorway as they moved inside. Spurlitz fingered everything he could, spotting an empty fifth of Jack Daniels on the coffee table.

  "Someone had a little party. You weren't out driving though, right?"

  Dane didn't respond.

  He held his breath as they continued on through the center door that divided the car in two, realizing the shit was about to hit the proverbial fan.

  "Holy crap," Spurlitz let out a whistle. "Please tell me I'm not seeing what I'm seeing."

  The whole center of the room was taken up by an old two-color printing press. The walls were lined with benches and cupboards housing ink and paper and chemicals.

  His mother had been the first girl to ever take the printing course at the Boulder School for the Deaf and Blind, causing quite an uproar at the time. She would gleefully recount the story anytime given the chance.

  When he was a kid he would curl up in the other room and read Westerns, with the clickety-clack and thumping of the press giving the illusion that they were moving down the railroad to some faraway place. The rhythm lulled him to sleep like the beating of a heart.

  "It was my mother's. It's how she made a living."

  Spurlitz shook his head as he circled around it.

  "According to your files, it's also how you made a living. It has to go."

  It was true. Dane had made his first fake IDs on this machine. Actually, he'd made a lot of things on it. When his mother found out, he thought he'd killed a little part of her, even though she said she forgave him. It pained him to think about how he'd let her down.

  It was worthless now; he could do more with a cheap PC than the printing press.

  "You can't do that. It's part of the estate."

  Spurlitz took a step toward him.

  "You'd be surprised what I can do. It's gone by Monday or you're in violation and you can explain it to the judge. Got it?"

  Dane cussed under his breath.

  Spurlitz cocked an ear towards him. "I didn't quite catch that."

  He spoke through clenched teeth. "It'll be gone."

  "Good answer."

  Spurlitz tossed his cigarette on the ground outside the Pullman, the kid scurrying behind. "I'll see you in my office every Monday morning at 8 a.m. sharp."

  Dane waited until they turned on the main road, then he started for the house.

  He needed a hot shower in more ways than one. Returning to the house, he got the pilot light going, and straightened the bathroom they'd trashed. Finally, he hopped in and let the hot water wash away the filth. The bite on his leg stung like it was on fire as the water cleansed it.

  It was an odd sensation to be back in this house, a house he'd run away from for so long.

  There was a change of clothes lying on the sink when he got out. He dried off and dabbed antiseptic on the puncture wounds on his thigh, wincing.

  He slipped the shirt and pants on, not sure whether to be grateful for something clean to wear or be pissed off that yet another person felt perfectly all right letting themselves into his house.

  AJ was in the kitchen filling a thermos with coffee.

  "Make yourself at home."

  Nonplussed, AJ spun the cap shut and turned around.

  "Get your shoes on. We can talk on the way to the feed store."

  "Feed store?"
<
br />   "Just gave out the last of the grain. Horses work up a terrible appetite stomping all over people. Now that you're back, you can feed them right? So let's go."

  Dane pulled on his shoes, looking around.

  "Where's your attack dog?"

  "Don't worry, I left Brandy at home."

  Five minutes later they were rolling down the dirt road, Dane feeling the sun on his arm as he leaned out the window, drying his hair.

  "There's some aspirin in the glove box if you want it."

  Dane found the first aid kit, dug out two aspirin and drank them down with some coffee.

  AJ tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

  "Your dad was pretty out of it after he lost your mom, and then you. I know you don't believe that, but it's true."

  "Let's not get into this."

  "Henry was so depressed, it was awful to see. He kept saying he should be the one dead and gone."

  Dane looked out the window, refusing to feel anything. "I'd have to agree with him on that, and that'd be a first."

  She sighed in frustration.

  "It was bad, Michael. Everyone was worried he'd do himself in. After Tilly had her litter of pups, I brought one over hoping it would cheer him up. I couldn't get him to answer the door, so I let the puppy in the back figuring it would find your dad pretty fast. The next day I saw him planting petunias in the window boxes, and the puppy tailing him all over the place."

  Petunias had been his mother's favorite flower. She would fill the window boxes with them each spring.

  Defiant, he turned on her. "Is there some kind of point to this?"

  She held her temper in check.

  "A week later Dad saw him at the feed store in Hygiene, buying tools and seeds. Pumpkin seeds."

  His mother and father had some terse conversations whenever the shoeing, horse boarding, and printing didn't bring in enough money to cover all the bills. Not one to take advice from anyone, especially his wife, Henry Dane saw every suggestion she made as an affront to his ability to support them. He'd sometimes take a second or even third job in town rather than try anything different.

  "I'm just saying a lot of people like to go pick their own pumpkins for Halloween. The Hearings make good money, why not us? How hard can it be? Maybe we make extra, we give some to the school."