Chapter Seventeen
It was early morning as Aidan rode into town with Uncle Quinn, staring out the window to avoid conversation with the mullet-haired man he wished he was not related to at the moment. From the corner of his eyes he could see his uncle’s knuckles quivering as they held the equally jumpy steering wheel. Aidan was grateful that the drive into town only took ten minutes once they were off the dirt road and back onto asphalt.
Hung over the middle of Main Street was the town’s name in crude, wrought iron letters, and a Winchester rifle that was touted as being “Big enough to kill Babe, Paul Bunyan’s blue ox” hanging proudly below.
Quinn’s meticulously maintained Chevy Silverado came to a lurching stop in the unlined parking lot of the town’s only grocery store. It also served as a gas station, butcher, and candy shop. The town was fairly deserted, but considering it was late April and the area was too cold for any tourists, Aidan figured the silence was part of that country charm. He followed his uncle out of the truck and through the swinging glass doors, amazed at the existence of a sign which read, “Check and Cash Only.”
“Not so friendly to that new-fangled, out-of-town plastic money, huh?” he joked to his uncle.
Quinn glared back. “Just get in here and try not to embarrass me in front of the Wiz.”
Wiz? Like someone taking a leak? Aidan knew he was in for more than he had expected when he woke up that morning, and Holly had talked him into joining his uncle on some errands.
Holly told him she had work to do out on the lake, and Quinn needed his help much more than she did. Aidan was certain she was avoiding talking to him about the previous day at the lake. Erin’s warning also would not give him rest.
Inside, the store’s shelves were lined with all of the basic essentials that a person could need, but the prices and lack of selection spoke to the isolation of Winchester. Quinn walked to the front counter, leaning against it with his knuckles down on the linoleum.
His gruff voice called to the empty building, “Wiz? Ya here?”
There was no answer, and Aidan continued fumbling with the rickety rack of cheap key chains poised near the register.
Quinn’s fists lightly drummed on the countertop in annoyance as he muttered under his mustached breath, “He’s gotta be here somewhere.”
With a final ba-dum-dum tap of his knuckles, Quinn swung his gangly legs over the counter with such swiftness that Aidan just stood there with his mouth hanging open.
“But— ” was about all he could get out before his uncle strode past the butcher-block island covered with half of an animal carcass and through a door that Aidan presumed went to the back stockroom.
What the heck? Aidan thought as he stood with a shamrock keychain in his palm. Am I supposed to wait out here or what?
He had no idea what it was Uncle Quinn was doing in the back of the store, but he felt like he would rather keep from knowing all of Quinn’s business, especially when it came to his friends. None of Quinn’s friends ever came inside the cabin when they stopped by – at least since Aidan’s family started visiting. He preferred keeping Quinn’s acquaintances at such a distance anyway.
“Dang it, Keiran!” He heard his uncle’s distinctive boom from the back of the store, accompanied by the crash of what sounded like bottles and cans hitting cement.
Aidan quickly put the keychain back on the rack when another crash resounded through the small grocery store. He picked up some mumbled cursing from another male voice, but he couldn’t make out any of the words.
“Don’t you dare!” He could recognize the slight tremble in his uncle’s gravelly voice.
He did not need any more prodding and leapt over the counter and bounded with a crash into the stockroom. He stood up straight in a dimly lit storage room and office only to see his uncle and another man squared off like they were in an Old West shootout. But now they were both staring down Aidan – Quinn on the right and a short spindly man with a harelip on the left. Quinn’s right hand was hidden by his body, but it seemed he was hiding something.
A gun! Aidan’s mind thought back to all of the pictures of his uncle at NRA rallies.
The other man, who must have been Keiran, glared at Aidan through his squinty eyes, his bald head shining in the glow of the overhead light.
“Well, what in tarnation do you want?” Keiran, despite his short stature, had fairly extensive muscle-tone. His white tanktop revealed that his arms were also covered with tattoo sleeves; the blues, purples, and greens created a busy quilt of identity up to his wrists.
“Nothing,” Aidan muttered, finally able to catch his breath from all of the excitement and dashing about.
Now Aidan’s eyes searched the man for a weapon of some sort, but Keiran was quick to notice the boy’s intention. The skinhead quickly shoved something into his pants pocket, but not before Aidan caught a glimpse of something brown in Keiran’s hands – like it was made out of a well-polished wood.
“Nothing? What the heck do they teach you in those Utah schools?” Keiran turned toward Aidan, his finger pointing in the air. “Bunch of dang liberals, if you ask me! ‘Nothing.’ What kind of answer is that?”
Aidan looked at Quinn in desperation, but his uncle casually sat his butt on the edge of a crummy two-drawer desk and watched their exchange.
“I, uhm, well… what I meant to say was…” Aidan stumbled to cover. “I just heard a lot of noise back here, and I thought I would see… if you needed some help.” He was relieved with how quickly he recovered from that one. “Yeah, but it looks like everything’s okay, so I’ll just wait out front.” He turned to leave when he felt boney fingers grip his shoulder.
“Not so fast, boy.”
Aidan slowly turned around and was face-to-face with the middle-aged militia-man with the scarred lip. He turned to his uncle for help, “Quinn, I’m just gonna go wait… in the truck. If that’s okay with you?”
Quinn gave no response but just folded his arms over his chest, no indication of a smile from under his red ‘stache.
Keiran still had not removed his hand from Aidan’s shoulder, the grip intensifying as Aidan stared at the man’s graffiti-littered arms.
Definitely prison tats. Or at least that’s what I think prison ones look like.
He saw clovers hidden amongst swirling confederate flags and words which Aidan did not have the mindset to focus on and read.
“Aidan, you’re not going anywhere.” Keiran gave a menacing smile and his breath reeked of old tobacco and coffee, but his bloodshot eyes were the worst. He had the gaze of a crazy man ready to go over the edge.
“But you can’t keep me here!” Aidan shouted in disbelief.
“You’ve seen too much, boy. Right, Quinn?”
Quinn nodded in agreement and started picking at the dirt under his fingernails.
“But I didn’t see anything!” Aidan insisted, his voice cracking as he tried to slide out of the wild man’s grip.
“Sure you did,” he whispered as he leaned closer to Aidan’s face, his leather hand resuming its grip.
Aidan’s brow began to sweat. “I swear! I swear I didn’t!”
“I’m afraid that you won’t be able to leave after seeing my face!” His spittle landed on Aidan’s nose, and all Aidan could do was close his eyes and hope that everything ended sooner rather than later.
Silence and darkness were his only companions as he awaited his fate.
Then he felt its pressure against his temple and the click of a hammer being drawn back echo through the room.
This is it! The butcher’s going to kill me! Crazy Nazi!
And then it happened.
His uncle’s laughter broke across the small room followed swiftly by the chuckle of the man in front of his face. Keiran let go and nothing was against Aidan’s head anymore. Aidan slowly opened his eyes and discreetly wiped the sweat off his forehead. What he did not need was any more embarrassment.
“We really had you going there, didn’t we, kid???
? Keiran howled with laughter, slapping a tire-iron against his dust-riddled jeans. Apparently that had been the “gun” that was against Aidan’s head just seconds ago.
Aidan’s eyes filled with angry tears as his eyes darted to his uncle who simply stood as he had before, trying to repress his laughter.
“Looks like I still have the touch, doesn’t it, Quinn?” Keiran stood proudly, puffing out his chest.
“You sure do.” More chuckling until Quinn straightened his arms, smoothed out his shirt, and regained his composure – kind of. “Aidan, this is the Grand Wizard. I just call him the Wiz – unless he pisses me off, and then I just call him Keiran-go-lightly Campbell. Wiz, this is my nephew I told you about.”
“Well, Aid. If you’re gonna start hangin’ with the likes of us, we better start toughening you up a bit!”
Keiran slapped him on the shoulder – a little harder than Aidan thought necessary – and turned back to Quinn. “What do ya say about helpin’ me with movin’ some bodies today? As usual, you’ll get a cut.”
Quinn ran his hand up and down over his moustache, smoothing it out as he quickly thought over the proposition. “I guess that would be okay. Right, Aid?”
Aiden felt his uncle’s squinting eyes jabbing at him for the answer he knew he had to give.
“Yeah. Whatever you say, Quinn,” was all he could muster.
He had no idea what he was getting into and felt that today’s work had to be some kind of initiation into Quinn’s Aryan Brotherhood. Aidan followed the two men out of the office and down another back hallway, wishing that his parents were back already.
They came to a heavy door which had more security on it than the rest of the store. Keiran unlocked a black box at the end of a crossbar which stretched across the steel door. He found another key further down his massive ring of keys and unlocked a padlock that was inside the black steel box. Once unlocked, he swung the crossbar away from the door and proceeded to enter a code into the security pad which was mounted to the door. Aidan heard the click of the electronically controlled mechanism give way, and Keiran pulled the steel handle and pushed the door open.
Inside was cold and darkness.
Aidan listened for anything living – the whimper of a tortured soul, the rattling breath of a dying man – but he heard nothing but the ventilation system of the giant walk-in freezer.
What he could make out as his eyes adjusted to looking into the lightless room were forms dangling from the ceiling. Ready to move bodies – should have figured they would be dead.
“Better get started,” Keiran stepped into the freezer and turned on the lights, Quinn quickly following.
Aidan stepped in and gaped at the headless rib cages dangling from the massive hooks. He sighed relief when he saw the hooves protruding above the plastic wrap.
“You’ll need to put those on.” Keiran pointed to rubbery aprons and gloves dangling from coat hooks along the wall.
“Slide that one down the line, Quinn!” Keiran hoisted one carcass off the railing and carefully moved it onto a rolling rack in the center of the freezer.
Once two carcasses were loaded on the rack, Aidan helped roll them out to the butcher-block at the front of the store. During the rush inside, Aidan hadn’t noticed that there was another table with a sink near the island where earlier he had spied the partly butchered carcass.
The men spent the afternoon discussing local rumors and laughing up old times. Quinn tried to teach Aidan how to dress an elk while Keiran expertly made work of his own. Aidan kept quiet and focused on the knife in his hand and the way his uncle told him to maneuver through the cold flesh.
“I used to hunt every type of game you can imagine – putting my name in for each draw that I could. Remember that, Keiran? We were kings of the whole friggin’ forest!” Quinn laughed as he sat back on a folding chair, carefully monitoring Aidan’s work between thoughts. “There’s nothin’ like it, and you have no clue what I’m talking about unless you’ve been there. It’s a pain in the ass giving up something you love, Aid. Now I’m lucky to have a friend like the Wiz here who will let me come in and help out so I can still have a stock of game in the freezer. Plus, the company ain’t bad either.”
Aidan nodded and continued trimming fat from the cut he was working on. Before visiting Idaho, he never would have imagined butchering anything more than the routine gutting of bluegill or bass. It was tough work, but just the kind of thing that he liked.
As he carried bundles of white-papered meat to the car, Quinn and Keiran stood by the grimy glass doors of the store. Keiran leaned in close to Quinn to speak, but Aidan could still pick up bits of what he was whispering. “You gotta be here tonight.”
The insistence in his voice kept Aidan listening for more details. The men’s conversation throughout the afternoon had been fairly light-hearted, but now Keiran’s face was serious, his mouth drawn tight.
Aidan placed the last few bundles in the enormous white cooler in the back of Quinn’s Silverado, taking a moment to listen.
Keiran looked over his shoulder at Aidan, scowled, and turned back to Quinn. Aidan couldn’t hear a thing, but he saw Keiran’s persistence in the way his shoulders arched and back stiffened.
More sharp whisperings and Keiran accusatorily pointed at Quinn’s chest. Quinn’s mouth went rigid, his eyes flaming in their little nests of wrinkles.
Suddenly Quinn burst out, shoving his way past Keiran, “Fine! I’ll be here!” He gruffly stalked to the driver’s side door and flung it open. “Get in the truck, Aid.” His voice was raging cold, and Aidan hustled as he slammed the cooler’s lid and hopped into the passenger-side.
Normally Quinn treated his truck like a baby, but as he slammed the truck into reverse, backed out, and put it back into gear, the truck was nothing but herky-jerky anger.
Quinn rolled down his window and shouted to Keiran, “I hope you know what the heck you’re doing! You better be right about this!”
And they drove off, leaving Keiran standing at the front of his store, staring after the truck.