“Yeah, where he at?”
“He’s leaving Carter’s restaurant.” Hackett described the car the guy had been driving. The same one he saw outside of that East Rutherford house.
“How do you know it’s him?”
“I just do.”
Butler listened, hung up, and went to find his ride. He had some shit to deal with now.
He found the car pulling onto Valley Road just a few minutes later.
1938
Joe Tenant opened the door to his kitchen. It was next to the driveway, and his family never used it, but he was too tired to walk back around to the front door like a “civilized man,” as his wife would say.
Caroline was scrubbing the dishes in the sink and the kitchen smelled of bacon and maple syrup. She looked up from her work when he closed the door.
“You’re late this morning. I had to walk Isabelle to school all by myself.”
He started to apologize, to just say something, but the words wouldn’t come. The lump in his throat was thick, and for a moment he was happy Isabelle was at school already. He wasn’t going to be able to hold back the tears.
He collapsed into Caroline’s arms, pulled her close to him, and kissed her neck. He didn’t shake when he cried, the tears just rolled down his cheeks and onto the strap of his wife’s apron.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he kissed her deeply and she responded, pressing her body against his, letting his tongue explore her mouth. She ran her hands through his hair. He lifted her up and carried her to the bedroom.
***
Before he fell asleep, Joe asked Caroline to wake him when she was going to pick up Isabelle. She did at quarter to three. He dressed and walked with her along Hoover toward the tall brick school. It was one of the best features of their house, being only a block from school. Behind them, he noticed a dark Chevy, its motor idling.
Isabelle was the second to last student out, like she always was. Something about walking in alphabetical order in a line struck Tenant the wrong way. It was like Isabelle was always going to come in last, that the school bred it in her, all because her last name started with T. She was going to have to work just a little bit harder.
When Isabelle saw Tenant, she screamed, “Daddy!” and embraced him. He lifted her off her feet and held her tight. Thankfully, tears did not come. He put her down and the family walked home together.
The Chevy still idled across from their house. Two men sat inside it, making no effort to hide. The one in the passenger seat gave Tenant a little wave while Tenant tried to stare them down.
“Nice kid,” the guy in the car said.
“Take her inside,” Tenant said to Caroline.
“What are you going to do?” She had seen the car too. “Just go.”
She did as she was told, and Joe went up the driveway and opened the trunk of his car. He took out the crowbar he kept inside. Gripping it in his right hand, he crossed the street. He noticed the Chevy’s engine was now shut down.
They didn’t know what was going to happen until it was too late. Tenant raised the crowbar over his head and brought it down hard on the windshield. The glass crumpled and shattered against the blow. He raised it again and brought it down upon the hood this time. He heard the engine roar to life.
“Stay the fuck away from my family! I did what you said!” he yelled, bringing the crowbar down twice more.
The car started to roll and pull away from the curb. Tenant stepped out of its path and threw the crowbar at the bumper. It clattered against the ground. The Chevy was gone.
***
Two hours later, as Tenant dressed for work, he heard the telephone ring. He took it.
“That was a nice stunt today. Did your wife see it?”
He gripped the phone tight. He didn’t recognize the voice, but it was definitely Irish.
“We only wanted to make sure you listened to our threat from the morning. You were in no danger at that moment. However, if you go to the police, if you try another stunt like you pulled this afternoon, you and your family’s safety will be in danger.” The voice trailed off.
Tenant wasn’t going to put up with this.
“I told you to stay away from my family,” he said. “Or what you saw from me today was just the beginning.”
“Then I feel pity for your wife, because she’s married to a dead man. I hope you understand.”
The line went dead.
Jackson Donne found a dive bar on Valley Road in Montclair. Getting back to New Brunswick and the Tavern would have taken too long, so instead he stopped there. The place was named Tierney’s and was incredibly Irish inside, at least by New Jersey standards. Notre Dame flags, shamrocks, and a “Happy St. Patrick’s Day” sign from the nineties were stapled to the wall. The wooden walls were old and rotting, and other than the bar and barstools, there was only a jukebox.
When Donne ordered his beer, the bartender asked him how his day was going. Donne grunted back a response and hoped it was clear there wouldn’t be any more talking. Just good old-fashioned drinking.
He heard the door to the bar swing open. Whoever came in must have stood there surveying the bar for a minute, because Donne didn’t hear any footsteps at first. When he did, they were short and light, as if the feet were barely touching the floor. The guy sat right next to him. Donne didn’t even look.
No reason to make eye contact. That might start a conversation.
Half an hour later, Donne was three beers deep and just starting to get a buzz on. The memories of Jeanne were fading. His nerves were calming; one more beer and he’d be comfortable enough to go home.
The guy sitting next to him was only on his first beer.
“Yo, motherfucker, what you say?” He tapped Donne hard on the shoulder.
Donne half-turned toward him and said, “Nothing. I’m just drinking a beer.”
“Hey, I said I heard you say something. Now I want to know what it was.” He pushed Donne this time.
Donne turned fully toward him and took a look at him. He was thick, muscular, and black. In a bar like this, it would be a lie to say he wasn’t noticeable. Especially this early in the afternoon.
“Look, I don’t know what you’re—” Donne recognized the man from his aunt’s
