Tracey Lamki sat parked on Third Avenue, two houses down and across the street from the Schulers in a sand colored Buick. She was slouched down in the driver's seat, her eyes peering out of the side window with a pair of binoculars trained on Levi and Brad as they lingered on the stoop. She hadn't come to stake out the Schulers, it had just happened that way. She had come to keep tabs on the Millers.
The iPhone in her pocket buzzed and she jumped. Dropping the binoculars and hitting her knees on the bottom of the steering console.
“Jesus, fuck.”
Straightening herself, Tracey pulled the phone from the front pocket of her jeans and pushed in her pass-code—she had never had a pass-code before, didn't have an iPhone before two days ago, but Antony's gifts came with demands. Keep it locked. Keep it on you. Never turn it off.
So?
Tracey quickly typed out a reply. Slight change of plans. She held the binoculars back up to her eyes and caught the back end of Brad walking into the house and Levi shutting the door behind them both.
Trace.
Yeah?
What change of plans?
Right. Brad's gone AWOL. There's a party at the Schulers, looks boring as fuck. Brad just went inside.
That's not how AWOL works.
Well, how does it work?
Just, never mind. Is he in to stay?
How should I know?
Tracey rolled her eyes and looked back at the doorway again, this time without the binoculars, they weren't actually that necessary. The door was closed, a curtain was half open and she could see every now and again a form move in front of the window. But mostly the Schuler residence was closed to the world and to her, and any other spying eyes...
Tracey looked down at the new iPhone in her hands. She had never had Google at her finger tips before. She typed in a search, ignoring Kelly's next round of quick fire texts.
Keep an eye out. … If nothing's changed in ten minutes we're going in. … Do you remember the make and model of Deb's car? …. Trace …
“Google says that's sort of how AWOL works,” Tracey mumbled to herself and tossed the phone into the center console. She looked out the windshield at the avenue stretching before her. It was quiet and empty. For early spring it was unseasonably warm. Pools of dirt covered snow began to melt and turn to slush at the ends of driveways and in the center of the black asphalt street. All of the trees were dead.
For a moment Tracey let her mind wander back to two nights ago, when she had smashed her mother's favorite Winnie the Pooh figurine against the shitty, aged wallpapered living room wall. She kind of wanted to take it back, and then the phone buzzed again, and this time, Jodi entered the group chat.
Deb drives a white Porsche Cayenne :)
Tracey could hear the silliness of Jodi's voice pouring forth from the emoji. She seethed in it. Working with Jodi at the restaurant had been one thing, but they were usually not on the same shift, being pretty much the same employee, and it wasn't like Osaka-ya was ever that busy, even during the dinner hour. But now that they were in group chats and basement meetings together the feelings had begun to surface. Tracey had started to realize just how inadequate she was for this gig. She was completely unequipped with the emotional stamina and strategy required to play the long game. Jodi was already a favorite, starting player. Tracey was on the bench. A Buick shaped bench.
What Tracey didn't realize and would never realize, was that the long game had nothing to do with who Antony fondled or fucked. It was who Antony trusted, when it mattered, to do the job.
I think he's in to stay. The house should be empty. Tracey picked the binoculars back up and swiveled her sight to the other side of the street and the house she had come here to surveillance. Brad was at Levi's. Richard was at the office. Debra, and her white Porsche Cayenne, were out. As long as the driveway stayed clear, the real work could be done.
Looks like we're gonna get done with this shit ahead of schedule.
Thanks, Brad.
Thanks, Braddy-poo :))))
“Yeah.” Tracey heaved a great big sigh and slouched back in the seat. “Thanks, Trace.”
“So, you put on shows with Levi?”
Levi pushed a pile of half eaten pie from one end of his plate to the other, a trail of pie innards following his fork. Him and Brad were squished on a love-seat sitting across from Levi's aunt Miriam while she tried to act interested in his life. He barely registered that Brad had been asked a question, his focus trained on the slow and steady passing of blueberry slime: the purple so deep it looked almost black.
Brad slung an arm around Levi and pinched his shoulder, bringing Levi back into focus. He looked up at his aunt and smiled sheepishly while Brad talked on. “Oh yeah! We've been making movies together for years,” Brad spoke as if they were a couple of old pros. The ease with which he made them something more than what they really were was, very likely, the reason Levi stuck by him anyway. It was a charming quality, something endlessly optimistic, a way for Brad to get in and under the skin. Contradicting him just made you look like an amateur.
Miriam nodded slowly and shoveled a large bite of blueberry pie into her mouth, burgundy lipstick smearing off on the fork. Levi watched as a single, bloody purple-red goop formed at the corner of her mouth.
“Yeah, my parents wanted me to get a little experience before taking me on at the company. My dad, you know, owns Miller Industrial Paints and Chemicals. I can have a job there whenever I want you know, but Levi here, his art...it needs a stage. Starting my own production company and Levi's gonna be my first big protégé.” Brad squeezed Levi one more time, “Right buddy?”
“You both went to NIU then?”
Levi nodded. Brad grinned.
“Hmm...” Miriam licked the leftover blueberry guts from the corner of her mouth. “Camille, dear, is the coffee ready?” And there it was, amateur hour all over again, Miriam's coffee more interesting than Levi's dream.
Across the street, at the Millers, three twenty-something cult members slipped out of the bushes and stalked up to side of the house. One of them, Trent, a gangly half hipster half actual hippy who had moved here two years ago from California to be near his aging grandmother, wrapped his hand in his flannel over shirt and broke a pane of glass in the back, kitchen door to reach in and unlock it.
“Trent.”
“Yeah man?”
“Kelly had the garage code.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, man,” Jodi rolled her eyes and pushed inside anyway, followed by Kelly, and then by Trent. Regardless, they were in.
“We'll each take a room on the outside and work our way to the center, yeah?”
“Yes, ma'am,” Trent gave a salute and headed for the hallway leading to the master bedroom which was on the first floor along with a full bath, open concept kitchen-living-dining space, mud room, and half bath. The rest of the bedrooms and an office were on the second floor. The basement had been finished into a suburban man den with a couple of unused pieces of exercise equipment in one corner and a 70” TV in the other.
“Don't call me ma'am,” Kelly said after him.
“Yes, sir?”
“Really?”
“God, like feminists man, don't make no damn sense...” Trent trailed off and was lost in the back of the house.
“I'm going to start in the garage,” Kelly said, leaving Jodi to the rest of the main floor.
“Your aunt seems nice,” Brad tipped the last of a bottle of relatively expensive red wine into his glass and peered around the counter for another snack. Levi leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, watching Brad hunt down more food.
“She's judge-y.”
Brad shoved a bite of some kind of cheese ball into his mouth and then picked up his glass of wine, swirling it around like he was about to discuss it's tannins.
“So, fuck her.”
Levi straightened up as his mom walked through the kitchen and over to the fridge, pulling out the jug of half and half coffee creamer and looking Brad up and down.
“Language, boys.”
Brad turned and smiled at Camille, taking a sip of wine and watching her intently as she filled another coffee cup and saunter off back into the living room.
“Stop, dude.”
Brad turned back to Levi. “So, what's the problem. You're always complaining about your family this and your family that,” he took another swig of wine.
“We don't all get wads of cash from Debra at the end of the week for doing nothing.”
“Oh my god she's only giving me what I need to survive, like...”
“Like,” Levi breathed in deeply and lowered his voice. “It's not the same for you. It doesn't matter like it matters to me.”
“It's just a movie, dude.” Brad set the glass down on the counter and turned briefly away from Levi, looking for more crackers.
“All they want to know is if your bankroll is going to make something out of me, not if I'm going to make something out of me.”
Brad eventually gave up, and seeing that there were no crackers, stuck his finger in the cheese ball and took another bite. Levi watched his friend of many years decimate anything that was laid about before him: appetizers and wine, this room, this space, four years of college projects hijacked by Brad's need for an easy grade.
“It's like, you get all of the credit.” For none of the work.
“The worlds most boring people. There is not a single sex toy in that master bedroom,” Trent walked out into the living room of the Millers suburban home, hands on his hips, looking around at the nothingness that was tan walls, tan couch, and a light blue and gray chevron patterned rug. Even the bookshelf was mostly empty: a couple of coffee table books for show and some World Market pottery.
“It's like, I hate them more and more with every organic yogurt I see,” Jodi added from the kitchen, walking into the living room with a cheese stick half eaten in her hand.
“What kind of cheese is that?”
“Sargento. Colby Jack.”
“I shoulda known, honestly,” Trent crossed over to the hallway, kicking the rug up and flipping around a couple of picture frames on the end table. “B-O-R-I-N-G”
“We're supposed to make it look like we were never here.”
“I see your point man, but, I already broke the window.”
“Find anything?” Kelly stood in the doorway to the garage, her hands on her hips, calling out to the other two. Jodi turned and finished off the cheese stick.
“Nothing,” Trent and Jodi spoke simultaneously. Jodi balled the wrapper to the cheese stick up and shove it into the front pocket of her jeans.
“Maybe it's just for appearances, or maybe Debra doesn't even know?” Jodi asked, looking around at the suburban mom aesthetic.
“What, that she married a racist piece of shit? She knows,” Trent reached behind Jodi and pulled the top of the wrapper sticking out of her pocket, tossing it on the floor behind him with a stupid grin.
“I'm just saying, what if she doesn't have to be a part of it.”
“We're not having this conversation.”
“Why not?”
“Because. Shut up already.”
“You aren't the leader, Kels, sorry. She's just Debra Miller. She drives an obnoxiously expensive SUV but she probably doesn't even know where the money comes from, which is evident, because I mean, I swear that rug came from Target. There's nothing here, okay, Antony's little reconnaissance mission is a throw away. And I'm not about to kill someone over poor choice in husband.”
“Doesn't matter,” Kelly said stiffly.
“What do you mean it doesn't matter?”
“She's just as bad as him, maybe, even worse. Because he's so obviously bad that people like you will let her just slip by. She voted, too, you know. She deserves it.”
“That's a bit harsh.”
“Hey man, I hate to interrupt such important ethical dilemmas, but we haven't even touched the basement or upstairs yet. Make nice, or Antony will have our heads,” Trent walked forward and laid a gentle hand on Jodi's shoulder, looking towards Kelly with softness in his eyes, a pacifism completely at odds with the reality of why they were really here.
The trio silently made their way to the door off the kitchen that led down into the finished basement, which they already knew to be Richard's sort of man cave, hoping that the whole mission wouldn't be a waste of their time.
The basement laid out before them the picture of suburban, white dad. There was unused exercise equipment in the far corner, with a set of weights collecting dust, and an electronic dart board, turned on, with half of the lights burned out. There was a giant TV, an old couch, a half built bar and a door left ajar that led into what seemed to be a kind of office. Kelly headed straight to the office, Jodi let her go and followed Trent to the TV. While he bent over the stacks of DVDs and sifted through, Jodi plopped herself down on the couch.
“Trent.”
“Yeah man?” Trent had skimmed off the top layer of DVDs shoved into a drawer and pulled out a porno, “Hey, not so boring after all.” He looked at the cover which featured a woman and a cache of machine guns and a strangely patriotic version of James Bond, and shrugged, “eh, maybe not. Poor Debs.”
“Are you a feminist?”
Trent toss the disc aside and raised his eyebrows, still digging through the drawer like there was going to be a giant sign at the bottom of it signed by Dick himself: I am a fucking Nazi.
“You always this philosophical on a walk through?”
“Whatever,” Jodi crossed her arms. Trent pushed the drawer closed and looked up at Jodi, clearly upset.
“Course I'm a feminist. I'm just not a touchy feminist.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“I don't know, man, like women are badass but like freak out over the word ma'am. It's totally distracting your movement.”
Jodi rolled her eyes. “You don't get it, then, if that's what you think. Guys like you always have that tone.”
“What being polite?”
“She could kill you, you know. Easy. I've seen it.”
Trent nodded. “Jodi, you're not as much of an airhead as people say you are.”
“Guys!” Kelly called from the office. Trent and Jodi got up and walked over to join her, pushing the door open and getting a full look at the worst kept propaganda machine they had ever seen, as if troll dens were even all that well kept to begin with.
The desk straight ahead housed an ancient looking desktop computer and was surrounded by absurdity. Memes printed out and stapled onto a bulletin board over the desk, a Make America Great Again bumper sticker applied straight to the wall, and other similar bumper stickers hung up like a kind of mood board. Next to the desk, leaning against the wall, were stacks of political signs for various local politicians ranging from the school board and village council to county judges and even state representatives. Kelly stood on the other side of the desk with her arms crossed and eyebrows raised, behind her, a huge safe as tall as the room and four feet wide.
“Daaaamn, what do you think is in there?”
Kelly shrugged and turned back to look at the safe, eyeing it up and down.
“A dead body!? No, that's ridiculous. Oooh, white robes?”
“Guns,” Jodi held up a copy of American Rifleman. “Definitely guns.”
“Well fuck...”
Above them, the sound of the garage door opening clanked and clamored and all at once, their jean pockets buzzed and flashed white screens through the denim. They each pulled their phones out, and looked at the message across the screen.
Yo, White Porsche Cayenne.
To be continued...here
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