Interpreter for the Dead Read online

  His father would just shake his head and grit his teeth.

  "Not so easy as you say. Have to get permits and papers from city. Don't do everything right, get in big trouble. Not worth risking."

  Nothing was ever worth the risk as far as Henry Dane was concerned.

  "Your dad planted acres of pumpkins, even made a little corn maze, and had hay rides. From that point forward, everything was different. Every year like clockwork, he'd fill those window boxes with petunias."

  Dane stared at her. She could not be talking about the same man.

  "I know you don't want to believe this, but your father tried to be a better man. I think it was his way of trying to make amends."

  "Glad to see the old man was finally making some money."

  "It wasn't about the money. He helped all of us. The only reason most of us are still here is because everybody saw what your father had been able to do just by taking a chance. We even secured a big contract to supply the food for the school district. Everyone here has turned their lives around. Wait until you see the pumpkins come in-"

  "I'm not going to see anything. I'm leaving as soon I get this place sold."

  AJ pounded the steering wheel in frustration. "You can't do that. That's not what Henry would have wanted."

  "I don't care what he wanted. Why should I? He never gave a damn about anything I wanted, or what my mother wanted."

  "This isn't just about your father. Everybody down here is in this together. We all need each other."

  "Listen, I have to sell this place. Even if I wanted to stay, which I don't, I'd have to sell."

  "Whatever kind of trouble you're in Michael, these people shouldn't have to suffer because of."

  Dane snorted.

  "All you're doing is putting off the inevitable. This town is growing like a weed. If I don't sell, someone else will. A year from now, maybe five. Nothing stays the same."

  Fed up, AJ slid to a stop on the shoulder of the highway.

  "You're right, Michael. Nothing stays the same, except you. You're still the same self-centered jerk you were when you left. At least your father was man enough to change. Get out."

  "What?"

  "Get out of my truck."

  "We're in the middle of nowhere!"

  She reached past him and threw open the door. "I can't believe I even tried. You can get out now or I can push you out at sixty miles an hour."

  Dane stepped out. She slammed the door shut and rolled the window down before leaving him in a cloud of dust.

  "I want those clothes back tomorrow!"

  Chapter 10

  Seven o'clock Monday morning and Daryl Spurlitz could already tell it was going to be one of those days.

  Thanks to the towelheads down at the gas station cutting the fuel with water, his car was dying at every stoplight. He made a mental note to call the Daily Camera newspaper when he got to work and let them know what they were up to at Pump It Yourself.

  If he got to work. His car sputtered heavily, and he pumped the gas pedal while riding the brake just to keep it running.

  A couple ragtag college kids passed him in a dilapidated Volkswagen van, practically deafening him thanks to their missing exhaust pipe. A bony arm hung out the passenger window.

  Either a vegan desperately in need of a steak or a meth addict, it was hard to tell which in Boulder. Spurlitz read the bumper stickers plastered all over it as they passed by.

  Visualize Whirled Peas. Eat the rich. Bite me. I go from zero to horny in 5 seconds flat.

  If he could have only one wish it would be for the college to be gone. That one thing would make Boulder oh so much nicer. But then he'd be out of a job.

  He sighed, watching the car in front of him stop halfway through an intersection for some princess who'd decided she just couldn't wait for the walk signal to sashay across the street. Better yet, she strolled along like she had all the time in the world, chatting nonstop on her cell phone. The Volvo SUV in the intersection honked for her to hurry it up. She flipped the driver off with a perfectly manicured finger, so to reciprocate he zipped around leaving nothing more than a few inches of air between her taut ass and his shiny impact resistant bumper.

  Spurlitz had to laugh.

  He took a sip from his Styrofoam cup, desperate for caffeine hit.

  Cinnamon coffee. Who in the hell came up with this shit?

  Somebody not only had to think about it, somebody else had to actually say, "Yeah, that sounds good". Then somebody else had to actually make it. And somebody else would buy it. Like him. But only because all the real coffee was gone by the time he got there. Score another one for the bastards at the gas station.

  The light changed and he accelerated, dipping into the bag beside him - a chocolate donut with colored fucking sprinkles. They gave him the wrong donut. Christ. How hard could it be? He took a bite, and choked it down with cinnamon coffee.

  There was no God.

  Spurlitz pulled out his own cell phone and plugged it in, remembering he hadn't charged it yet. The message light lit up almost instantly. He read the caller I.D.

  Boulder Police Station 3:10 AM.

  He hit the playback message, trying to guess whether it would be about the biker out in Gunbarrel or the crack head who'd just gotten out of the halfway house over in Longmont.

  It was neither.

  "Mr. Spurlitz, this is Michael Dane. I'm calling from the Boulder Police Station. I'm not in trouble, but I think I'm supposed to let you know anytime I have contact with law enforcement officials."

  Spurlitz frowned, almost missing the turn into the underground parking garage beneath the city building.

  "Just wanted to let you know not to worry about that printing press. Yeah, turns out somebody came in and stole the damned thing while I was in town getting groceries last night."

  Spurlitz stopped at the tollgate and set his coffee on the dash while he fished out his parking card and slid it into the slot, juggling the cell phone from one ear to the other. He could hear a cop in the background taking down information while Dane left the message.

  What the hell was Dane trying to pull?

  "I know. I can't believe it either. But I figured I'd better file a report with the cops, let them know there's a two color printer on the loose somewhere in Boulder County."

  Spurlitz screeched underneath the raised arm, steering with one hand while he put his card away with the other, listening intently.

  He drove down the rows automatically, heading toward the spot that had been marked with his name for ten years. The one past the last pillar and closest to the door.

  "So anyway, they've got the serial number and said they'd call me if they heard anything. Just wanted to give you the heads up. Oh, and I wanted to apologize if I seemed a little disrespectful earlier. Whatever I can do to make your job easier, just let me know."

  Spurlitz turned, not noticing the printing press squatting there until it was too late - he instinctively slammed the brakes and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands, imploding the Styrofoam cup and spraying himself and the inside of his car with hot cinnamon-flavored coffee, as he buried the Chevy Impala into the machine.

  Miller drove past, slowing for a moment to watch his boss rock back and forth in muffled rage inside the coffee covered interior, bashing a cell phone against the dash repeatedly.

  Spurlitz was right. It really was going to be one hell of a day.

  Chapter 11

  The musty aroma of alfalfa hay filled the air as Dane pitched sections of it over the fence to the horses. It mixed with the Old Spice aftershave wafting up from the lamb's wool collar of his father's coat.

  The horses had kindly woken him up bright and early, their shrill whinnying a hint it was feeding time. The cold of the morning had pricked at Dane's skin like a thousand little needles, until he finally gave in and donned his father's coat.

  He'd deliberately not purchased a coat of his own while he was in town last night, refusing to even entertain the
idea of being in Colorado one minute longer than he had to.

  The smell of Old Spice took him back to when he was a small boy, long before things went south between him and his dad. Standing on the toilet seat as his father shaved, he'd scoop up some of the lather from the sink, and rub it all over his chin. His dad would laugh, in the odd seal bark that those who cannot hear their own voice laugh in. Taking out the blade, he'd let him pretend to shave his face, too.

  Dane was pulled out of his reverie by lights coming down the driveway. From the looks of it, multiple vehicles were headed his way.

  Spurlitz, arriving sooner than he thought, but Dane was prepared. Had he been a logical man, he never would have walked up to that particular hornet's nest and whacked it with a baseball bat just to see what happened.

  He had no doubt he would be spending the next several hours in Boulder County Jail, waiting until Harding posted bail. Then waiting some more while the cops took their sweet ass time releasing him.

  Was it all worth it?

  Yes. Yes it was.

  Pitching the last leaf of hay, he headed for the driveway to meet the lead vehicle. He put on his best 'what can I help you with' face in preparation.

  The Suburban rolled to a stop next to Dane and to his surprise Oren McConnell was driving, his face grim and shadowed beneath the rim of his hat.

  More vehicles turned in the drive behind him and began parking in the field next to the Suburban. Oren got out and signed, his hands moved stiffly in the cold.

  "We want to talk to you. Come out to the barn."

  His first impulse was to tell McConnell to go to hell. But Oren had turned his back to him, shutting off any such option.

  It was a move his father had done many times, using his deafness to control the situation, leaving the person on the receiving end feeling impotent.

  "You want to talk, we'll talk," he said, following the old man to the barn. Another twenty or so people were streaming along behind him.

  He had hoped that McConnell would just resign himself to Dane selling the farm, and leave him alone. He should have known better. What McConnell expected to get by dragging the whole valley into this, he didn't know. Apparently his daughter had failed to relay the futility of convincing Dane to head back into the abyss, so Dane would make his feelings on the whole issue crystal clear.

  The rental car beckoned as he walked past, the temptation to run and leave it all behind overpowering. He could have if they hadn't tracked down all of his accounts. He'd called on each from a pay phone in Boulder, hoping that just maybe they had overlooked one. They hadn't. After buying supplies, and a pre-paid cell phone the night before all he had was a hundred bucks cash left.

  A cloud of dust out near the edge of the valley caught his eye. White Ford with a white van close behind.

  This time it was Spurlitz, and he brought a friend.

  He guessed he had about two minutes to inform the neighbors that they weren't all living on Walton Mountain anymore.

  Once inside the barn, he took a last look at the approaching government vehicles. He was somewhat grateful Spurlitz would be arriving to break up this little party, before they hung a rope from the rafters.

  Dane's hands shot out, cutting through the air as he spoke. He wanted to make sure his feelings came through loud and clear.

  He was a little disappointed that with the kids present he couldn't use a full range of vocabulary.

  "I didn't know they allowed children at lynchings."

  Some of the kids giggled at his pantomime of being hanged, but were quickly hushed by their parents.

  "I want you to see the faces of the people whose lives you are destroying," Oren signed, looking Dane straight in the eye.

  "Destroy? Do you people think you live in a vacuum? The instant neighborhoods are coming. The mini-malls are coming. You can't stop them. If they don't build on your land, they'll build all around you."

  AJ raised her hands, her signs measured and deliberate.

  "Everybody here is paying off at least two mortgages, Michael. We're in debt up to our eyeballs after buying all this farming equipment," AJ explained, stepping closer. "If any of us sold out, we'd be lucky to break even, let alone be able to move somewhere else. This farm co-op is all we have. It's either stay and fight - or lose everything. Your property makes up the largest section. If the developers get that, it's only a matter of time before we'll all be driven out."

  "What are you asking? Are you asking me to sign all of this over to you?"

  AJ moved towards him.

  "We're asking you to do the right thing. Just don't sell."

  "The right thing? Tell me something all you fine, fine people - who was doing the right thing when I was ten years old and walking around here bleeding after my father whipped me with a fence post?"

  They stared at him in shock. Mrs. Kettler stepped forward, hand extended as if to comfort. "Michael. I never knew. I swear by God almighty I never knew."

  Dane cocked his head at Oren McConnell and signed.

  "What about you Oren? You going to say you never knew?"

  AJ turned to her father, her eyes searching, her fingers trembling.

  "Did you know about that Dad? Did you know it was that bad?"

  Oren McConnell looked back and forth between his daughter and Dane. The old man glanced skyward for a moment and then began to sign. He was interrupted by the arrival of a Boulder County Sheriff and Daryl Spurlitz. Each one lead a massive German Shepherd.

  "Don't let me interrupt your little shindig folks, we're just here to do a routine drug search of Mr. Dane's house. Saw all the cars and just wanted to give everybody a heads up that the house is off limits until we're done." AJ interpreted for the crowd as Spurlitz spoke, her eyes never leaving her father's face. "Mikey, why don't you just hang tight until we're done. I've got some information on that missing printing press I'd like to share with you."

  "That's my parole officer, in case anybody is wondering," Dane signed, smiling facetiously.

  Albert Loomis, a hearing man who had lived in the valley for years, piped up from the back. "Are they gonna find anything?"

  Dane responded with a lopsided grin. "Not that I put in there."

  AJ failed to see the humor. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means the Feds want this property worse than you do."

  She stared at him a minute, confused. Finally it dawned on her.

  "Let me get this straight," she pointed past Dane. "You're saying that your parole officer and a Boulder County Sheriff are planting drugs in your house right now, so they can send you to jail and seize all your property?"

  "Oh no."

  He paused for effect, sort of enjoying the befuddled looks.

  "Most likely my parole officer planted it when he was here the other day. If he had it on him now the dogs would go crazy."

  Mr. Loomis spat a wad of tobacco on the ground. "You don't seem real concerned about it."

  "Actually," he removed the bottom off a nondescript oilcan and held out a small video camera. "I was planning on it. I just didn't think it would happen so soon."

  Loomis picked it out of Dane's hand.

  "I'll be goddamned. A hidden camera."

  He passed it on to AJ "You really put these in your house on the chance of them doing something?"

  Dane placed the camera back in the oilcan, and pointed the barely perceptible lens towards the doorway once again.

  "There's no chance about it. I knew he was going to do it. I just had to make sure I got it on tape."

  AJ shook her head in wonder.

  "And they'll have to throw out your case. You think you've got it all figured out."

  Dane gestured toward the sheriff's van and the house and the two men inside as if it were all self-explanatory.

  "Let's just say my lawyer knows what to do after they haul me out of here."

  AJ spun the fake oilcan on the workbench.

  "What if you're wrong? What if you go to court and they co
nvict you? Then what?"

  "Not even a remote possibility."

  Mr. Loomis snorted and spat again. "I think you're full of shit son."

  Kate Loomis almost snapped her neck turning so quickly. "Albert! There are children here."

  Her husband waved her down.

  "Excuse my French, but this boy would have us believe that the whole world is out to get him. His father, his parole officer, the judge. They're the bad guys? Oh sure, to hear him tell it he's done nothing wrong-"

  "I never said that." Dane's face flushed.

  "Yeah. I guess what you're really saying is it don't matter whether you did anything wrong, as long as you can get away with it. Isn't that about it?"

  "If you want to get philosophical-"

  "I don't want to get anything," Loomis said, taking off his ratty John Deer hat, and scratching his head. "The rest of the world ain't like you. Everybody's not out to get something. Those men in there are just doing their jobs. The judge that'll convict you will be doing his job."

  "I don't have to listen to this."

  Loomis walked over to the bench and picked up the oilcan.

  "Apparently you don't have to do anything the rest of the world does. You don't have to work. You don't have to contribute to society. You just have to outfox everybody else. Well excuse me son, if I'm not razzle-dazzled by your amazing ability to cover your own ass, while everybody else is left swingin' in the breeze. I've had about all I can stomach here. Come one Kate, let's go home."

  Dane blocked his exit.

  "Leaving before the end of the show, Loomis? Afraid it might just play out exactly like I said? That would completely mess up your little Norman Rockwell view of the world, wouldn't it?"

  The burly farmer stared him down.

  "You've got all of about three seconds to step aside."

  Dane nodded, barely moving aside to make his point.

  "I thought so," Loomis spat, pushing his wife ahead of him.

  Dane grabbed the oilcan again from the workbench. For a brief second AJ thought he might hurl it at the back of Albert Loomis's head.