Devil In The Waters, Book 3, Chapter 11 (complete) (Patreon)

For two days, all he could think about was Kimmy with Devlin. Only, in the aftermath of a great night of sex with Kimmy, his head was clearer. Now it wasn’t because thinking of them together clicked a funny dark spot in his sexuality he didn’t even like being there, it was the truth of Devlin’s nature. Kimmy didn’t know how low Devlin could go. She knew he was an asshole. Devlin’d been rude and dismissive with her—shit, she’d tried to hit him and that was how this all began.

And that was what made him finally blurt it out, unprepared and frustrated: “I don’t like you working there.”

And it was Kimmy who’d prompted this statement, going on while they jostled for position in the kitchen, both of them making their own breakfast, Kimmy outlining her day and how she was going to impress Devlin.

Who fucking cares about Devlin, he was thinking, waiting for his toast to pop. And he just came out and said it: “I don’t like you working there.”

Now Kimmy was looking over her shoulder at him with a puzzled expression. She said, “What? . . .”

“You already know that,” he said.

She resumed frying an egg, saying toward the stove, “Where’s this coming from now?”

“Now? I don’t know . . .” Wishing he hadn’t brought it up.

“Tell me,” she said, still facing away.

“I guess . . . hearing you talk about him at home.”

“I’m not talking about him. I’m talking about how I have to solve this problem he—”

“Yeah, to impress him,” he said.

“I want to be good at my job, Josh.”

“I don’t doubt you’ll be awesome at your job, that’s not what I’m saying.”

Now it was him looking over his shoulder, watching his wife’s back as she turned off the stove, rested her hands on the counter’s edge.

He said, “What?” Thinking she might be mad at him.

“You don’t like me working there?”

“Does it surprise you? I mean—can you turn around?”

Kimmy did, leaning her ass on the counter and folding her arms.

He said, “You know I don’t like it.”

“You didn’t stop me.”

And though he shouldn’t have said it, he did. “I guess I hoped I wouldn’t have to.”

Kimmy scoffed. “Really? Are you trying to make me feel guilty? Josh, I’m already working there, what do you want me to do now?”

His toast popped and he sighed, rubbed his forehead. “Nothing. I . . . I don’t know. I’m not saying don’t work there.”

“Why wouldn’t you have expressed to me the tiniest doubt before?”

“How could you not know it existed? You know what I think about Devlin.”

“We talked about that. You never said—”

“I’d never tell you not to.”

Kimmy exhaled slow, cheeks puffed out. “God, Josh, I don’t know what to think about this.”

“I don’t know what to tell you either.”

She said, “Before I ever worked there, we sat down. We talked about it. You told me—”

“I didn’t tell you not to.”

Her eyebrows went up. “But you wanted to tell me not to?”

Probably. “No, that’s not it either.”

“What, then? Where does that leave us, Josh? Leaves us right where we are. I’m already working there. I can’t change that now. We did talk about it—we talked about me taking this job, what it meant . . .”

“I know, I know,” he said. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you. We talked about it. We said in three years time it would be like you’d worked almost a decade at immigration. Three years time, we bank that money, we live off my salary. It seems simple, I know. The pragmatic side of me—”

“We’re both pragmatic, Josh, we decided together.”

“Kimmy—I see the sense in it. I get it. Three years and then where will we be?”

“So what’s the problem? What’s different?”

“It’s having to hear about Devlin. Having to hear about you being in the car with him all day, driving around in his fancy car . . .”

Her features scrunched. “What on earth does that mean?—It sounds jealous . . . it sounds like you’re implying something . . .”

“It’s not that, Kimmy . . .”

Point blank, looking right at him, she said it: “You don’t trust me?”

He shook his head no. “I don’t trust Devlin.”

She frowned, looked aside and then the frown deepened. “This is crazy.”

He shrugged, tried to show her she was making a bigger deal out of it than he intended. “Okay, Kimmy, I’m just bothered. I’ll get over it,” he said. “It was hard to take, knowing that you were in the car with him all day long. All the way out to Hamilton, driving all the way back again . . . I try to be strong about it, I don’t want to burden you. I’m just having a weak moment right now. You’re telling me about how you’re going to impress him by solving this problem at work. I’m about to start my day and I’ve already got the name Devlin in my ear.”

“Do you not want me to tell you what’s going on at work?”

“Maybe.”

“I can do that if you want, Josh.”

“I don’t know if that’s what I want or not. I guess we’re just going to have to feel our way through this.”

“If we stay on the same page we’ll be fine.”

And that was the truth. Boy, was that the truth.

But he hadn’t been truthful with her. He didn’t even know what the hell he’d been doing, but whatever it was it wasn’t truthful. The subterfuge, trying to act like a family guy, getting his wife to see him with Sophie . . . a little girl that could look like their little girl. How cheap. But what was he going to do?

Maybe put your foot in the water. He drew a deep inhale, wishing he had more time to prepare, but wanting to test how he might sound when he was honest, even when honesty was upsetting.

“You know, Kimmy, Devlin . . . made my life miserable.”

She nodded, looking at the floor between them. “He made a lot of people’s lives miserable.”

“I only care about what he did to me, right now. It was all more than ten years ago, but now you work for him and I can’t stop thinking about . . . the things he did to me.”

“He bullied you.”

“Boy, did he ever, Kimmy.”

Now she could see his point better, and the stiffness left her. She’d had walls up, looking to get feisty with him, but now she knew she couldn’t. She slumped, her crossed arms fell to her sides. “Yeah, okay. I hear you.” She came across the kitchen space to him, slow, smiling. Her arms circled his waist, and she leaned against him. He held her.

He said, “It’s not just bullying, Kimmy. It was bad.”

She stepped back. “Did he ever hurt you?”

Staying strong, he said: “Sure.”

“He beat you up?”

“He was rough. They hurt me, him and his friends. Changed who I am as a person, that’s for sure. Hurt me physically, hurt me emotionally . . .”

“You never said anything. I mean, you alluded to it, but I didn’t know what it was like.”

“It was bad. Like, you asked if he ever beat me up . . .? Here’s one. Do you remember a guy named Johnny Rumble?”

“No . . .”

“Went to elementary school with him and then high school. For a few years. He was there Grade 9 and 10, one of Devlin’s buddies. They played hockey together. Johnny Rumble was a fucking psycho. And that guy loved Devlin. So, one time . . .”

And now he wondered how to continue.

Kimmy said, “Go on, tell me. I’m listening.” She showed him a soft expression and honest eyes.

It was . . . this one was Grade 9. It was after a school dance and I was with some of my friends. We were just walking through the neighborhood, you know Soap Street, down toward the old village from the school where they used to do the winter carnival . . .?”

“Yeah, I know . . .”

“I’m just walking along there, but it’s raining, no—misting—and I’ve got my hood up, but me and the guys I’m with, we hear these footsteps coming. But like coming fast. We turn around and it’s Johnny Rumble. He just walks right up to us, then he like points over his shoulder saying Devlin wants your coat. And I go like What? I don’t understand. He . . . punched me in the stomach so hard. I didn’t even see it coming, and . . .”

Kimmy looked uncomfortable, moved again to hold him.

“Anyway. That’s just a little taste. That’s just one day of my life with Devlin. There are others. He didn’t hit me, I know . . . But if you want to know what it was like, there it was. Devlin didn’t have a jacket, and he was hanging around with his psycho buddy Johnny Rumble. He tells Johnny Go get my jacket, Johnny does. That guy hit me so hard I couldn’t breathe. I was laying there, and the guy . . . I guess robs me. You’re a lawyer; it’s theft. Theft by strong-arm or whatever you might want to call it. Bullying sure, you can call it bullying. But sometimes bullying is more than just the word ‘bullying.’ Sometimes it’s legitimately criminal.”

“I’m sorry, Josh,” she whispered and he hated to hear it. Now he felt weak again. A fourteen-year-old event retold to his wife and he felt as powerless and humiliated as he had that night.

He exhaled, pinched the bridge of his nose, regretting even telling he that. He said, “Well, anyway, Devlin got my jacket.”

***

The worst thing was there was way more to the story of Johnny Rumble than what he told Kimmy.

Look at this, trying to be honest and he couldn’t even commit. What had really happened? Everything was true, but once again here he was trying to be honest, and what he’d delivered was hollow.

He’d been with Rich Bridge and Kimmy’s later high school friend, Karina. Back then, in the first year of high school, Karina had been a girl he had a deep and hurting crush on. The three of them’d been walking Karina home after the dance. He’d danced with Karina that night to a slow song. It had felt like they’d danced as friends, but there was a spark inside him—maybe there was more . . . Man, was he ever on cloud nine.

They were all walking arm in arm. And it was true, footsteps from behind had him turning around to see Johnny Rumble standing there. The visage of this guy instantly threw a spike of dread in his heart. Left behind a year (shit, maybe two) while he was in the same grade as him and Rich and Karina, Johnny was older. And his presence could only mean one thing.

Kimmy didn’t remember Johnny because he’d been expelled later that year. They sent Johnny to trade school. The guy even had a chance at one point to succeed in hockey, but he threw it all away because all the guy did was fight.

So here he is, a fourteen-year-old Josh turning around to see this guy, probably fifteen-years-old, but not like any other fifteen-year-old he ever saw. The guy had lines on his face like a grown up. Six feet tall, maybe two hundred pounds, spiky blond hair . . . 

Johnny Rumble’d said, “It’s raining, Devlin needs your jacket.” But it didn’t end there. No, there were lots of homophobic epithets cast Josh’s way right in front of Karina. That was common. It was a long winding thread of his past with Devlin. Something he didn’t want to get into with Kimmy. So he’d left that part out.

But there he was: Johnny Rumble humiliating him in front of Karina Brubaker. And what’s Josh going to do? Stand up to this nut-job? No way. So he begins to say something . . . and like he told Kimmy: One wicked punch, didn’t even see it coming. An uppercut into his stomach. It literally felt like his organs had pushed up inside his rib cage. The air shot out of his lungs. He threw up. Threw up and then almost aspirated his vomit, gagging for air. Crumpled at Karina’s feet. What does Rich do? Nothing. Stands there holding onto Karina, the two of them looking down at this pathetic heap at their feet. Johnny Rumble’d then pulled his jacket over his head like it’s a hockey fight. More humiliation? . . . 

How about that, Kimmy, want to hear some more degradation? . . . Rumble kicked me in the face. Kicked me in the stomach, trying to get the jacket off, pulling it but my arms were cinched down at my sides trying to hold my guts in. So to loosen my arms up he just kicked me in the neck, in the face, the mouth . . . Then, the psycho getting off on it, gets the jacket he wanted, and that’s not enough. Wants my wallet, too. He’s all charged up, pulling me up by my pants, lifting me by my legs, then my pants coming down . . . guy grabs my wallet, takes out ten dollars, chucks the wallet in the bushes. Takes off, leaving me curled up with my ass showing, bringing my knees up so no one would see my junk . . . 

He could still feel the misty cold rain on the small of his bare back and buttocks. Then Rich was pulling at his arm to get him to roll over. Both of them, Rich and Karina, crouching down, looking across the street. Devlin shrugging his arms into Josh’s stolen jacket. The jacket too small, Johnny Rumble and two other guys all laughing, Devlin standing there putting his arms out straight showing how the jacket was too small. Then trying to rip it by flexing his muscles, everybody thinking it was fucking hilarious.

That was the the night any hope he had of being with Karina Brubaker was lost, his last real crush-hopeful image of her in his mind’s eye was blonde-haired Karina kneeling over, not looking at him but looking across the street at the antics of shithead Devlin Stone monkeying around in Josh’s jacket while she rubbed circles on Josh’s chest trying to help him loosen up and breathe again, saying softly, “It’s okay, Josh, just breathe, just breathe . . .”

***

Across from her was a plastic stand divided in a grid of wire boxes that held pamphlets, brochures and rack cards. The titles like “Understanding Your Customs Tariffs Obligations;” “Goods Processing And The Courier Low Value Shipment Program;” “Marine Container Examination: What To Expect . . . ”

On her right sat a nervous looking Chinese man in a shiny and uncomfortable suit whose pants were too short. On her right an Indian woman, maybe Pakistani. She held a briefcase on her lap, the kind with locks operated by four-digit combination dials. She was in a typical Canadian Bureaucracy Waiting Room in a fancy downtown building—Number One, Front Street. The waiting room table held assorted magazines. Some involved the trade, some were Maclean’s, Outdoor Life, even a Harrowsmith—harkening back to the weekend that began this whole journey. Tiffany’s cottage in the sleepy town of Harrowsmith. She rolled her eyes, checked her watch. Now her knees were jumping. She brought her satchel up and lay it in her lap.

That was a lot of shit her Josh lay on her this morning. But she’d asked for it. What did she expect? She knew Josh hated Devlin. And knew Devlin had nothing but low-level disdain for her husband. Couldn’t she see that Josh had been bullied? It all made sense. It was more than the obvious fact Devlin Stone was an asshole. Maybe in the back of her mind she always knew it, but she hadn’t anticipated what Josh told her.

Poor Josh, sweet Josh. Could picture him from back then. They’d shared a kiss end of the year in Grade 11 before she went to visit her family in Taiwan for the summer. Kissed a boy she had a crush on. Josh Waters. Could picture him now, that young guy with that fresh face and cute smile. Skinny, unassuming, but honest and caring. Smart, too. A really good guy. One she stayed in touch with. Even though when she returned from Taiwan their romance (or whatever it had been) had fizzled, they still spent a lot of time together. Their love simmered on the back burner for two more years.

It was awful to think of her husband the way he’d described. Awful to think of a good guy like Josh Waters laid out on the sidewalk. No recollection of who this Johnny Rumble was, but could picture some hockey playing thug just the way Josh had described, some guy twice Josh’s size, half his brainpower, dumb, reptilian eyes . . . And just like Josh said, Devlin wants his jacket, this bigger kid punching Josh in the stomach to get it.

She winced now, made a slight hiss that got some of the others in the Border Services waiting room turning her way. She checked her watch again.

Poor Josh and his buddies. No match for guys like Devlin and his friends. They were just prey. And she could sympathize. Girls wouldn’t send somebody to punch you in the stomach, but they had other ways to devastate you. Eviscerate you with words, hair tosses, rumors and innuendo. Dismissiveness.

All of it was a long time ago. She doubted Devlin was a man who sent his friends to go grab a jacket these days. And in the end, Devlin hadn’t punched Josh. Josh claimed Devlin had sent Johnny Rumble, going only by Johnny Rumble’s words. Devlin wants your jacket. Josh hates Devlin, blames Devlin.

It wasn’t an excuse. She wasn’t excusing Devlin’s behavior. And Josh was always honest. Honest but hyperbolic. Josh believed Devlin was the one who wanted his jacket. But she knew how boys worked. Johnny Rumble, tough as he may be, was desperate for daddy Devlin’s attention because Johnny Rumble didn’t get that attention at home. Johnny Rumble sees Josh, easy prey Josh, Devlin doesn’t have a jacket, so his monkey brain connects the dots. Get jacket for boss.

What does she do now, ask Devlin if he ever sent some guy to punch Josh? So weird. What did Josh want from her? Want me to quit, want me to give up this job where I’m making money, doing something I like, bringing us closer to our goal . . . And why? Devlin stole your jacket when you were fourteen? He didn’t even steal it.

These were the kinds of things Josh should have brought up before she started at Stone Brokerage. Now she was in. Now it was too late.

A raised voice from afar: “Mrs. Chang?”

Her eyes lifted to the middle-aged woman behind the Plexiglas visor at the service counter. Barely enough energy to raise her chin from her bureaucratic desk. Border Services was the kind of place she was used to from working in immigration, though she’d never been to a Trade Operations office, they were all the same people. Maybe she knew how this game worked after all.

She rose and nodded; another woman appeared at the archway that led to the interior offices. The woman said, “Agent Parker can see you, it’s Office Four,” pointing down the hall, “fourth door on the right . . .”