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The Middle: Part One

Cliff answers his door at the third knock, hair still wet, looking tired.

"We got trouble," Tim says, pushing past him into the small apartment Cliff occupies.

Cliff closes the door with a heavy sigh.

"What else is new?"

Cliff is a good second, because he's deadly in a fight, smart as hell, and is always calm. Tim had once seen a girl go off on him at Buck's, screeching and yelling, and she'd slapped Cliff so hard across the face that her nails left two trails of blood, and even then she'd kept hollering. Cliff had just lifted the girl, tossed her over his shoulder, set her down outside, shut the door, and gone to clean his face and get a beer like it never happened.

"You hear about the Kralick kid?"

"Got shot, yeah." He grabs a beer off the counter, takes a seat, and gestures for Tim to do the same, but Tim shakes his head and continues to pace.

"Someone put the gun under my damn pillow."

For a minute, he thinks he's managed to actually startle Cliff, because his brows rise and, for a while, he says nothing.

But then, it's back to business.

"It didn't wake you up?"

"Look, I woke up this morning, with it under my pillow. I wrapped it in some boxers and a bag and ditched it someplace where it'll be safe for a little while. But Cliff, what do you know about this Kralick guy? Curly says he's a Brumley?"

"Nah, he ain't. Lives on the side of town and bums around with a few of 'em, but if he was part of a gang, don't you think things'd be worse since he was shot?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"You know, your sister might know more. Her pal was married to him."

"So I heard." He sighs and runs his hands over his face, "I really stepped in it, huh?"

Cliff shrugs and gestures for him to sit again, and this time, Tim does, sinking into his lumpy couch. Louisa, Cliff's girl, had thrown a blanket over it to cover up a blood stain, but like her other attempts to make the place homey, it hadn't really worked.

"You think someone's trying to frame you?"

"No police at my place yet. I got Curly there-"

"He know why?"

"Fuck, no. I told him if kids were getting shot he'd better stay in, call me if something happens."

"Bet he didn't like that."

"I don't give a shit if he did, but I'll know if police turn up."

Cliff sighs and taps his beer can.

"You'd think," he says slowly, "if someone were trying to frame you, they'd shoot someone you had motive to kill."

"Or maybe they offed Kralick and figured they'd kill two birds with one stone."

"Weird they put the gun someplace you'd find it."

"Yeah, huh."

"Got a plan?"

"Figure out who killed Kralick, find them, beat their face in and stick the damn gun up their ass."

"Good plan."

"Listen, can you check around? See if this kid had any enemies?"

"I'll try, but we don't want it to look like the Shepard gang is too messed up in this."

"I know, keep it quiet. And nobody but you or me knows about this, alright? The less people who know I have the gun…"

"The better."

Tim nods, and is about to start giving him potential leads, when the phone rings.

Cliff picks it up, listens for a second, and, without a word, hands it to Tim.

"Hello?"

"Tim, yeah, hey, it's me-"

"What now, Curly?"

"Shit, man, give me a minute. Listen, man, Angela just turned up with a hoard of her friends, and Maureen is here too, and they're all crying like it was their own damn husband got shot, and Angela is saying I should get you here because they wanna feel protected or some shit and I really don't know what the hell is going on, but they're driving me crazy, man, and-"

"Alright, alright. I'll be over soon. Hold your damn horses and keep them there, clear?"

"Well I can't seem to get rid of 'em, can I?"

Tim hangs up.

"I gotta go. You'll look into it?"

"Yeah, I'll do what I can, keep it on the low-down."

Tim nods, and heads out. He and Cliff have never been the kind of friends who are gonna sit around and gossip and exchange small talk. When Cliff and Louisa decided to get hitched, Tim only found out when Cliff said, as they were driving to a rumble, to try and keep out of fights after this one, because Louisa probably didn't want him all bruised for their wedding.

He makes it back home and they're two cars-neither that he recognizes, already parked outside. Inside, the situation is as bad as Curly described it. He counts eight girls in total. They're all circling one chick, who he figures is Maureen. She's mousy and wearing this green dress, which is big and frumpy and covers her arms, and Angela is right beside her, holding her hand and muttering something.

Angela looks up when Tim walks in, and says, "Finally, we're all so worried.". But when Tim gestures with his chin, trying to get her aside, she gives him a stubborn look and shakes her head. Tim sighs. Their mom likes to say that she's part mule, and Tim learned long ago that working around her was easier than arguing.

He manages to catch the eye of one of her friends he actually doesn't mind too much, Irene. She's standing a bit further back, and so no one really notices when she follows Tim to the kitchen.

"What the hell happened?"

Irene sighs and glances through the doorway to the congregation of girls.

"Come on, Kid," he says, keeping his voice as soft as he can make it. The look she gives him when he calls her kid- half annoyed, half blushing, is why the nickname has stuck with her far past her kiddy years.

"Honestly, all I know is what Angela told us on the ride over."

"That's more than I know right now."

She still looks reluctant. She bites her lip a little, a bad habit which has resulted in this little spot on her bottom lip always being a bit chapped. Her mouth always looks like she's just had a popsicle because of it- pink and shiny and with that chapped spot.

"Angela really didn't tell you anything? I figured she'd go to you first."

When he shakes his head, she quirks one of her full brows, and she sighs.

"Well, the way she tells it, her and Maureen got off work the other night pretty late. Maureen didn't wanna try walking or catching a ride alone, especially with how far she lives and all, so they stayed the night at Angela's, since her husband is- god, I don't know. Texas, I think?"

"Why didn't they call Carl?"

"He doesn't have a car. I mean, he's a dirt-poor, no one even knows if he's legally here, changes jobs every few months, what's he gonna do?"

"So they stayed at Angela's all night?"

"Yeah, and Angela said they didn't get too much sleep, so they decided to walk over to Maureen's because she has this concealer she swears by to cover dark circles. And they walked in and called out to Carl. He didn't answer, and they didn't think too much of it, because he's always changing jobs so Maureen never knows his schedule. But Angela said they heard the back door slam open and shut with the wind, which is odd, because Carl locks it at night and when he's at work and is real careful about that. So they went to the kitchen to check and- and he was there, Angela said, lying on the ground like- like- she said he was like a snow angel, all sprawled out in blood…"

She shudders and stops talking. Tim sighs.

"They got any idea who did it?"

"I don't think so. They've been talking to police the past hour before calling us, giving statements, so if they knew, wouldn't they have told 'em? God, the whole force would be after him, no?"

"For a dirt-poor immigrant? Yeah, they'd send maybe half, maybe even a whole squad car." he scoffs, but stops himself when he sees the sad look on her face.

"Look, kid, thanks. I've gotta be around, I don't like poor folks getting shot dead in their homes. But if they bring 'em in or police turn up… find me, okay?"

Irene nods, and goes back out to the girls. His eyes meet Angela's as he looks in on their gathering, and she has this intensity to her face he's never seen before, but in a second she's back to comforting Maureen.

Tim heads upstairs to find Curly, hiding in his room. It used to be Angela's, till she moved out, and he hasn't fully re-decorated, which is the second reason Curly's never brought a girl home. The first being his inability to speak to girls, but that's another matter.

"Listen, I gotta run. Something bout this Kralick thing don't sit right with me and I'm gonna look into it." He see's Curly jump up- "And no, you can't come. Stay here and make yourself known, so the girls feel safe."

"Come on, Tim, they're insane!"

"Look, just keep an eye on 'em. Bunch a good looking broads, can't be too bad."

Curly looks like he wants to protest, but just frowns and lumbers down the stairs after him.

"I'm heading out. Curly'll be here if you need anything." He addresses most of this to Angela, but his eyes flash to Irene's, and she gives a minuscule nod of her head.

First place he drives is to Buck's. Mostly because he has no idea where the fuck to start, but also because it's a good place to go when you're clueless. Enough people congregate there throughout the day that gossip spreads, and if someone doesn't know something, they know someone who does.

Today there's some big horses races out in Arizona, so there seem to be plenty of people. The door is never locked, and inside, a group of boys are huddled by a radio. A smaller group are gathered round a table, playing poker for matchsticks. One or two girls, with eye makeup that makes them look sleepy, despite it not being noon yet, glance up at him and give him these soft, hazy smiles, but today ain't the day to reciprocate.

He walks to the bar Buck had installed, where the man himself is wiping down glasses. Tim wonders what kind of life you gotta live, for your house to be full of strangers so much you put in a damn bar, but just takes a seat.

"Cliff been around today?" he asks. Him and Cliff have a system when they wanna keep the gang out of things. Since it don't take a genius to know they work together, you have to double check at every corner.

"Not that I've seen. Probably with that chick of his." Buck says this as if he hasn't tried to get with that chick of his multiple times.

Tim asks for a beer and bides his time.

"You ain't normally a day drinker," Buck muses, pretending he isn't nosy.

Tim shakes his head and looks up.

"You hear about the Kralick kid?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Shit, you ain't bugged by the fact that a guy you never heard of got shot?"

"It bugs me less than if some guy I had heard of did."

"Not if I heard of him for the wrong reason. I mean, a guy like you or me get's shot- well, somebody had it out for us, makes sense. I never heard of this Kralick guy bugging anyone." He see's Bucks face scrunch, as if he's trying to put it together, and Tim quickly covers himself. "Besides, his wife was a pal of Angela's, and now my house is swarming with girls."

Buck scoffs.

"Well, way I've been hearing round here, Kralick wasn't exactly a nice guy. Nothing too terrible about him, but nobody who knew him seems to miss him." Buck puts the glass down and points out a lanky boy with red hair, "Peter there says they worked together at the bar that used to be Mike's these past few weeks, guy hasn't been raking in the tips, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Tim says. He drops some change on the counter and downs the last of his beer.

"You coming around tonight? More races this evening, you could win big."

"We'll see." Tim says, and he heads out.

He likes Mike's bar- and he still thinks of it like that, rather than whatever it is now. He likes the new owner okay enough. It's a quiet place, good for thinking, and Ben, who took over, is careful to keep it clean. It ain't too far from the diner Angela and Maureen work at, so when Ben is there, he sometimes gives 'em a ride home, and according to her, never tried to pull anything.

But when he gets there, he runs into Cliff on his way out.

"Any news?"

"Guy working there said Carl wasn't too nice, but that ain't news. Turns out, though, that gun that's got you all tied up?"

"What about it?"

"Probably Kralick's."

Tim sighs.

"No shit."

"And apparently, it's been missing longer than a night. Kralick came in bitching about it."

"God damn. Any idea where he got the gun?"

"Nah. And ain't nobody got an idea of who'd wanna bother shooting him."

"Checked Bucks, no leads there."

The lean against the hoods of their respective cars.

"I still don't get how you didn't wake up. What the hell were you up to, last night?"

"Went to the diner for dinner pretty late. Got eggs. Went home and hit the hay. I'd been working on our little across-the-border deal all day."

Cliff nods slowly.

"The dinner Angela works at?"

"Usual table and all."

Cliff sighs.

"Jeez, man, have you gotten yourself into some shit."

"Tell me about it," Tim mutters.

With no leads, they drive the only place they're liable to get any, which happens to be Tim's house.

The girls are all still there, though he's been informed Maureen is resting up in Curly's room. Curly don't seem to pleased about this. Irene shoots him a worried look and is picking at the hem of her dress.

"Angela, we gotta talk," Tim says, and Angela is about to say something, when there's a knock at the door.

Angela gives him a little grin and prances to the door, but that grin falls the minute she opens it.

The man standing there flips out a badge and smiles in what he probably hopes is a kind, comforting way.

"I'm detective Ray Carlisle. I'd like to speak to you and your friend, please."


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