“Okay,” I said, wanting to move on. “But couldn’t you look around their place anyway? See if they have the fertilizer? Because if they do, well, they’d have a lot of explaining to do.”
“You want me to search their place. You’ve got no evidence, no witnesses, nothing. What sort of judge would give me a warrant based on what you’re telling me here?”
“Well, couldn’t you tell him we’ve got a feeling?” Dad said.
Don’t give Orville the easy ones, I thought.
“And besides,” Dad continued, “would you even need a warrant? I mean, I own the place. If I say it’s okay, can’t you go ahead and do it, even if they object?”
I could see Orville’s discomfort growing. I suspect the last thing he wanted was to confront the Wickenses. “I’m not sure,” he said hesitantly, which I took to mean that yes, he could search. “But what am I going to say? I’m just going to walk up there and start snooping around?”
“You’ve got another reason to go up there,” I said. “You could go up and talk to them about their dogs. Remind them that they have to be penned up, kept on a leash, kept on a chain for fuck’s sake, so that they don’t come down here and bother Dad’s guests again.”
“I suppose,” Orville said, looking at his hands.
“And here’s the other thing,” I said. “It’s about May Wickens and her son, Jeffrey.”
“What the hell have they done?” Orville asked.
“Nothing. But I had coffee with May this morning, and she kind of poured out her heart to me, at some considerable risk, I think. She wants to get away from her father, to get her son away from him. Timmy Wickens is feeding that boy’s mind a daily diet of poison.”
Orville Thorne shrugged. “So, she should leave. She’s free, white, and twenty-one, isn’t she?”
“Timmy Wickens has this kind of hold on her. She said if she tries to leave, he’ll hold on to the boy. He won’t let her take him.”
For the first time, Orville almost looked concerned. “He can’t do that.”
“I know. She says if she tries to leave, with Jeffrey, that Timmy and those two stepsons of his, Charlene’s boys, will track her down wherever she goes and bring her back.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Just go up and talk to them,” Dad said. “Just get a feel of what’s going on.”
“But you can’t let on that you know what May told me,” I said. “I think that could be bad for her.”
Orville collapsed into total frustration. “Just what the hell is it you want me to do? Hunt for stolen fertilizer when you don’t have a shred of evidence that Wickens had a thing to do with it? Try to get the daughter and her boy out when she’s made no official complaint whatsoever? Honest to God, what do you want from me?”
Dad and I looked at each other.
“Also,” I said, “he assaulted me.”
“What?”
“On Main Street. When he found me having coffee with May, Timmy Wickens grabbed my arm and squeezed it.”
Now it was Orville’s turn to try not to laugh. “Did he squeeze it really hard?” His voice dripped with concern. “Go ahead, grab my arm and show me how hard he squeezed. I can take it.”
“Fuck it, never mind,” I said. “Let’s just go up and talk to them about the dogs.”
“The dogs.”
“They have to keep them tied up. Plain and simple. Then, while we’re up there, we play the rest by ear.”
Orville said, “We?”
Dad begged off, saying his ankle was throbbing. I think he was glad for an excuse not to go.
So Orville and I walked up the road to the Wickenses’ gate. I knew enough now not to hop it. Orville shouted, “Mr. Wickens! Hello?”
Timmy appeared, followed by Wendell and Dougie, who, at that moment, really did remind me of the Darryl and Darryl characters from that long-ago sitcom. The three of them walked, casually, taking their time, down the drive to the gate.
“Yeah?” said Timmy. Not nearly as friendly as at dinner the night before.
“We wonder if we could come in and talk for a moment,” Orville said. “Provided your dogs is someplace safe.”
“They’re in the barn,” said Wendell, grinning.
“You’re sure?” I said.
“If the boy says they’re in the barn, they’re in the barn,” Timmy Wickens said, unlatching the gate and opening it wide enough to admit me and Orville. We started walking slowly, walking and talking at the same time, toward the house.
“What’s this about?” Timmy asked.
“Your dogs got a bit out of control today,” Orville said.
“Wendell told me.” Wendell nodded at this. “Didn’t he say he was sorry?”
“Well, you see,” Orville said, feeling his way, “it’s not just a problem of an apology.”
“What then?” said Dougie.
Charlene, in a grease-stained football jersey, had come out onto the porch to see what the commotion was. I could make out May Wickens at the window.
“Those dogs are dangerous,” Orville said.
“Did they bite anyone?” Timmy Wickens asked.
“No, no they didn’t.”
“Well then. Every dog’s allowed its first bite, and they ain’t even done that yet.”
“They’re vicious animals, Mr. Wickens. If you can’t control them, the town will seize them.”
Timmy bristled. “Will they now? I’d like to see them try something like that.”
“It won’t be necessary so long as you keep them tied up,” Orville said.
May had stepped out onto the porch, walked over to the railing. Our eyes met.
“Hello, ladies,” Orville said. “Nice to see you.” Charlene glared at him. There was something in May’s expression that seemed to reach out. Orville looked directly at her. “How are you doing, Ms. Wickens?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said quietly.
“Everything’s okay with you, is it?”
Timmy face darkened, and he looked from Orville to his daughter and back again. “Yes,” May said. “Everything is fine.”
“That’s terrific, I’m glad to hear that. That’s wonderful.” Orville cleared his throat nervously. “Well, that’s good. Isn’t that good that everyone’s fine?”
“Is there anything else?” Timmy asked.
“Well, as a matter of fact,” Orville said. “I wonder if you’d mind if we just had a look around the place?”
Whoa. I couldn’t believe it. Maybe Orville actually had some balls. One, at least.
“What?” said Timmy. “You want to search my place? On what grounds? Do you have a warrant for that?”
“He doesn’t really need one,” I said. “Because this property belongs to-”
“Hey, look,” said Orville, “I just wanted to look around, that’s all. You don’t have anything to hide, do you, Timmy? Because-”
“Ha-ha!” said Wendell. “I got it!”
He’d come up around Orville from behind and grabbed the police chief’s gun right out of his holster. Orville must have failed to snap the safety cover back on after the dog incident, making it easy for Wendell to snatch. Wendell waved it playfully in the air, dancing as he did so.
“I got your gun! I got your gun!” He singsonged, like he was chanting a nursery rhyme.
“Hey!” Orville said. “You give that back!”
Dougie was laughing, and Timmy had a big smirk on his face, too. “Hey,” Wendell said, pointing the gun at his brother. “I’m gonna shoot ya!”
“No!” I said.
“Bang!” Wendell shouted, and Dougie dropped to the ground comically, engaging in a set of ridiculous spasms on the grass.
“You got me!” he cried.
“You give that back to me right now!” Orville said, running after Wendell, who’d begun skipping away. Dougie was back on his feet now, running behind Orville.
“Here!” Wendell shouted at Dougie. “Catch!”
Dear God no.
Surely they would have enough sense not to toss around a loaded gun. But they did. It sailed through the air, up and over Orville, who reached futilely into the air to catch it. The gun arced earthward, and Dougie caught it handily, running off in the other direction.