GROW HOUSE

By John McFetridge

 

Steve Barrett had been back from Afghanistan two weeks when he stole his first car, a brand new BMW X5, leather interior, V8. What he did was, he stood around the parking lot of the Vaughn Mills Mall in north Toronto until some woman pulled in driving it and he followed her inside. Then he gave a couple of teenagers fifty bucks to steal her purse and while she was giving the mall security guard shit for half an hour, Steve drove the car to a garage on Dufferin owned by a biker named Danny Mac who gave him ten grand in cash.

It was the same kind of independent thinking the army sent him home for showing. What the fuck did they expect him to do back home?

Now, less than a month later, he was driving north on Avenue Road in a Jaguar XJ, British Racing Green, slowing down in front of the Four Seasons, looking for his girlfriend, Summer, and there she is, looking like every other twenty-something blonde in Yorkville; expensive skirt suit with the skirt way too short showing off fantastic skinny legs and a nice ass, the little jacket buttoned up to show her tits spilling out of the push-up bra, sunglasses and a big Holt Renfrew bag over her shoulder. And talking on the phone. She could be just another one of the rich kids with Daddy’s credit card, but when she got in the car saying, “The fuck you talking about Freddie, don’t give me that shit,” there was enough edge to make it real.

That, and everything in the big Holt Renfrew bag was stolen.

Steve pulled away from the curb looking at her and she gave him the nanosecond smile and went back to talking to her brother, saying they’d be right there and Steve saying, no we won’t, and Summer saying, don’t fucking worry and Steve saying worry all you want, I’m not helping and Summer saying, “Are you sure they’re dead?”

And Steve thinking, okay, this is something different, and reaching over and taking the phone away from Summer, flipping it closed.

“What the fuck? I was talking.”

“On a cell Summer? Anybody can be listening.”

She grabbed the phone back, flipped it open and started dialing, saying, “Oh yeah, like anybody gives a shit what I have to say. We’re going north, he’s in some burb, Aurora or some shit.”

A half hour later they were pulling up in front of a house, maybe five years old, in a subdivision packed full of houses almost exactly the same. It was late afternoon, around four, and the place was deserted.

420 Maple. Steve said, “So what was he, robbing the place?” He parked two houses down and Summer said, what are you doing?

“I’m not parking right in front.”

“We’re not going to be long.”

Steve said you got that right, and they got out and walked towards the house, Summer saying they had to use the side door. The house was brick, two story, probably 3500 square feet, garage in the front, four feet away from the ones on each side.

Freddie let them in and took them straight to the unfinished basement. At the bottom of the stairs, on the concrete, the two women were lying in a heap. Their heads were both flopped to the side on weird angles and there was a lot of blood. They looked to be early twenties, Vietnamese probably.

Freddie said, “I was supposed to just tie them up, but they wouldn’t stop hitting me.”

Summer turned and went back into the kitchen.

Steve walked down the stairs, looked at the two women and then back up at Freddie, standing there at the top of the stairs, looking like a hippie – long hair in a loose pony tail, tie-dyed tee, cut-off jeans and fucking sandals. Steve shook his head. “Okay, let’s go.” He walked back up the stairs.

Freddie followed into the kitchen saying, “I can’t go.”

Steve said, “Get in the car,” and Freddie said, “No.”

Summer said, “What the fuck,” and Freddie said, “I have to get the plants.”

The whole house, every inch of the place was covered in pot plants. Big ones. Freddie showed them around saying he was supposed to tie up the Vietnamese chicks and harvest the plants. In the living room, thick like a jungle, Freddie’s girlfriend, Sasha, the female version of Freddie in a tie-dyed cotton dress, was already pulling up plants and shoving them into green garbage bags.

Summer said, “I can’t believe this shit,” and Steve said, why not? “It’s Freddie.”

@#$

Victor drove and Gord sat in the passenger seat of the van, Victor saying he hated the suburbs and Gord saying it could be good, get your own place, a little space. Victor said that was fine for Gord and Connie, they had kids, but a guy like him, single, condo all the way.

Gord opened the bag at his feet and looked at the guns; two Glocks and two Beretta 95Rs, full auto, you had to hold them with two hands but no bigger than the Glocks.

Victor said, “You think Freddie grew some balls?”

“This is just my traveling bag, what I always take.”

“Could be a little loud out here.”

“I don’t expect we’ll have to fire more than one shot.”

Victor figured no, they probably wouldn’t. He glanced at Gord and thought, well, no more than two anyway.

@#$

The living room was like a verdant jungle, thick with plants and heavy with humidity. The windows were covered with plywood, but built out like boxes with lights in them and curtains so from the outside it looked normal, like the curtains were closed all the time. There were lights on tracks that moved slowly across the room and the place stank of fertilizer.

Freddie and Sasha were pulling up the plants by the roots and dumping them in green garbage bags and Steve said, okay then, they don’t want to come, “Let’s go.”

Summer said, “No.” She said they were all going.

Steve heard a car door slam out front and looked at the front door of the house. He started walking to the door, saying, “Freddie, how come that wire’s unhooked?”

Freddie never looked up from the bags, he just said, “They told me, unhook the traps, get to work.”

He didn’t get to say any more. Steve was already beside the door, on the hinge side waiting and when it opened and the arm extended in holding the Glock he slammed into with his shoulder and the gun fell to the floor.

A guy said, “What the fuck, Freddie?” and pulled his arm back and Steve picked up the gun and slammed the door.

The guy said, “Open the fucking door, Freddie,” and Freddie started towards it, got there and started to open it when the guy raised another gun and Steve slammed the door again as the guy started firing.

Freddie said, “What the fuck,” falling down from the door slamming and the sound of the gun, the bullets hit the ceiling and a couple of the lamps exploded.

Steve flipped up the letter slot in the door with the Glock and fired two shots. The guy outside said, “Freddie, man, that you?” and Steve fired again, but the guy was gone back to the van.

Then the living room was really quiet. All four of them standing around and Steve said, “Okay Freddie, who wants to kill you?”

Freddie said he had work to do and went back to pulling up the plants.

@#$

Friday night, the kids at their Dad’s apartment, Holly Kennedy thought she should be out having a good time but she was so tired. Got home from work a little after six, had a couple of glasses of the Shiraz while she took a bath and played the stereo really loud, listening to Cyndi Lauper and The Pretenders. She was going to put on the leather mini and black push-up bra, the silk blouse and her fuck-me boots with the four inch spike heels and meet Linda and Sue downtown but when she got out of the tub she just kept the robe on and poured some more wine.

Now it was dark and she was in the kitchen and there was a guy standing on the patio just outside her sliding doors.

She picked up the handset of the cordless and dialed 9-1 and the guy smiled and waved a little, an unlit cigarette in his hand and he motioned for a light. He looked to be in his forties, maybe a couple years older than Holly, and clean cut. Nice looking, if a little like a hoser in jeans and a vest, tall and skinny, short hair and no ball cap, that was good. He was still smiling a little so she made sure he saw the phone as she walked towards the sliding doors.

He said, “Have you got a light?”

She said, “What are you doing in my yard?”

“I’m looking for my dog.”

“Un-huh, and when you find him,” she said, “are you going to shoot him?”

He looked at the Glock on his belt and said, “No.”

Then Holly said, “Are you here for the growhouse next door,” and before he said anything, she said, “Are you a cop?”

The guy said he was trying to stay out of sight. Holly was right up beside the doors then, and the guy stepped up close. He said, “It’s just surveillance tonight,” looked at the dark house next door and said, “We hope.”

Holly went to the drawer beside the fridge and came back with a lighter, sliding open the door and saying, “You got another one of those?”

The guy got a cigarette out of his pack and handed it to her. She lit it and handed him the lighter, not taking the smoke from her lips. She inhaled and then blew smoke at the sky, following it up with her eyes, looking at the stars.

The guy said, so, you knew it was a growhouse, and Holly said, yeah, anybody could tell, never see anyone coming or going, lights going on and off at the same time every day, curtains never open. Then she looked at the guy and said, “Oh, wow, you want to know why I didn’t call it in? I have two kids. They’re at their Dad’s tonight, all weekend. We’re divorced.”

“It’s okay,” the guy said, “take it easy. I understand.”

She said, “I’m Holly,” and he said, “Gord.” They shook hands.

@#$

Steve said there was still at least one guy in the van, the other one went around back. “Who are they Freddie?” Steve was walking back and forth from the kitchen to the front door, looking at the backyard and the front yard. “Why do they want to kill you, Freddie?”

Freddie and Sasha were just about finished bagging the plants in the living room. They had a dozen or so big green garbage bags piled up by the door to the garage. Freddie said, “Okay, now we got upstairs. Four bedrooms.”

He walked up and Sasha followed him. Steve said, “Shit,” and Summer said she’d talk to him.

In the bedroom, same two tiers of plant beds set up, same vents, same big plastic tubs of nutrients and pumps, windows covered with the plywood boxes. Freddie was already working.

Summer said, “If you worked this hard at a real job you’d be doing good now.”

“If a real job paid like this.”

“Come on, Freddie, what the fuck are you doing?”

He kept pulling the plants up by their roots. “I know, I know.” He shook his head, looking pissed off and then mad at himself. “This isn’t right.”

“No, It’s not.”

“Should be cutting off the leaves, trimming everything. Playing some tunes, smoking some, having a brew. Harvest time on the farm.”

“Freddie.”

“Just leave the stalks.”

“What’s going on?”

“That’s one of the toughest things you know, the stalks. You can’t just put them in those big paper garden waste bags out by the curb - kind of noticeable.”

“So what do you do with them?”

“Dump ‘em. Sometimes we drive for hours, up to Wasaga or something. Sometimes we dump ‘em in Richmond Hill, everybody knows the Chinks are all growing.”

“Why are you doing it?”

“What do you mean, why? A thousand bucks a plant, two hundred plants in here, do the math, you’re always so smart. How could I not.”

Summer said, no, Freddie, “I mean, why are you stealing these?”

Freddie stopped grabbing plants for a minute and looked at his sister. His little sister but she was always like his big sister, since she was eight and he was ten and she got smarter, figured things out faster. Told them what their mother really did for a living with all those men.

“Because my crop failed, okay?” He dropped a full garbage bag and picked up and empty one. He looked away from Summer and tried to get the bag open, the plastic sticking to itself, saying, “It looks easy, they’re just fucking weeds, they grow everywhere, right? Well, it’s not so fucking easy.” He was pulling on the bag, couldn’t get the two sides apart. “Fucking pump stops working, hose comes loose, you get a flood, the lights burn out, the house gets too hot or too cold, you have to be on top of it fucking constantly. Shit, this stupid bag.”

Summer said, it’s almost like a real job, isn’t it, and Freddie said shut up.

She slapped him across the face and he pulled his arm back, made a fist.

She said, “Don’t you fucking dare. Who set you up?”

Freddie said he had no idea what she was talking about. Summer took the bag, licked her fingers and slide the plastic apart.

“Okay, Freddie,” Summer said. “You be the tough guy.” She walked out of the room and Freddie said, “Wait.”

She said you have to tell me the truth and he said okay.

@#$

Victor sat in the van and thought he could just drive away. Fuck it, get it done another night. But he needed this right now. It should have gone easy. Gord should have just walked in and shot fuck-up Freddie in the head. Then Victor would go in, say well done man, way to go, and shoot Gord. Too bad, Gord was a good guy but he was practically out of the business these days, his fucking front he set up working so well. Honest contractor. Shit.

Make it look like Freddie was robbing the place and Gord caught him. Put the gun in Freddie’s hand, make it look like he got off a lucky shot before he died. Could be in the back of Gord’s head, that would work, like he shot Freddie and turned around too soon. Must have been in a million movies, the guy you think is dead sits halfway up and gets another round off. Might be a hard sell, fuck-up Freddie actually hitting somebody with one shot, but it could work. Not like there’d be any of that CSI shit, couple of dead guys in a growhouse.

Victor thinking it should have worked. It would have gotten fucking Danny Mac off his back. Giving him all this shit, five grow ops hit in the last two months, all of them at harvest time. Danny Mac going fucking ballistic over who it could be – Danny Trahn, Colucci’s boys, some of the stragglers didn’t patch over – who’d have the balls to rip off their houses.

Only a matter of time before Danny Mac figured out it was Victor, tired of kicking up fifty percent of every house. Rob them himself, get full value from the harvest down the highway in Detroit no less, American money.

So, tell Danny he and Gord would find the motherfucker then send in Freddie. Pop him and Gord and be done with it.

But there was no way that was Freddie slamming the door and firing off the rounds with the Glock. That was a real shooter, guy didn’t panic.

Victor decided to wait, see what Gord could find out around back. Might be able to still finish this tonight.

@#$

Steve closed the fridge door, the thing was empty, not even plugged in and Sasha came into the kitchen. She said, “I’ve got some green tea if you want, maybe half a sandwich.”

She went through her backpack on the floor, getting out a plastic bottle and a baggie with some kind of stuffed pita bread. “It’s vegetarian.”

Steve took the tea and passed on the pita saying, “Of course it is.”

Sasha stood up, stretched, raising her arms over her head and Steve looked at her breasts in the cotton dress. She had a thin tee shirt on under but no bra, and her nipples were standing right up. She said, “You know what Freddie told me? You know all this equipment? You know where they got it?”

“No,” Steve said, “I don’t.” Sasha looked back into the living room, towards the stairs, all the equipment, but maybe listening for Freddie. Steve said, “A garden store?”

Sasha looked back at him, smiling now, flirting for sure. “Maybe the first time. For this house, they got it all at the police auction.”

“No shit.”

She wasn’t really good at the flirting, but she was trying. “From some warehouse that got busted last winter. They bought enough to start up five more houses.”

“That is pretty funny.”

“Freddie says the cops don’t care, it’s like a make-work project. These guys start up a new house every week.”

She was looking right at Steve, making a face at him, playful, and he grabbed her arm and pulled her close. She said, “Ow,” and he said, “Who Sasha? Who are these guys?”

“Ow, I don’t know.”

“Who we dealing with here, Sasha?”

“Let me go, I don’t know.”

“What did Freddie tell you?”

“He doesn’t tell me anything.”

“What’s going on, Sasha?”

“I don’t know.” She looked up at Steve’s eyes, saw him staring back and she said, “Okay, okay, it was like his boss.”

He loosened his grip, but still held her arm. He said, “What’s his name?”

“I’m not sure. Vincent? Vinnie?”

“Victor?”

“Maybe.”

He let go of her arm and she stayed standing close. Steve said, “Freddie’s crop went for shit so Victor told him to steal this one?”

“I’ve never seen Freddie like this. I guess he’s in deep to these guys, I don’t know how much. He had his house running for a while, got out some plants, delivered some, it looked good.”

“But it didn’t last.”

“No.”

“It never does.”

“So, I don’t know, Freddie was talking to them, they wanted their money, they didn’t care about his crop. He didn’t know what to do.”

“So then Victor set this up.”

“I guess so. All I know is Freddie was really happy. I mean, I’ve never seen him so happy, really. This was going to solve all our problems.”

“This one robbery?”

“We were going to take off, we’re going to BC, some friends of Freddie’s have a place. Freddie said we were going to buy some land.”

“You were going out to BC loaded after this one job?”

“We already picked out the Winnibego.”

Steve looked at her and thought, can she really believe that’ll work, and figured sure, she’s with Freddie, she’ll believe anything. “Okay.” Now he’d have to go and talk to Freddie.

“Wait.”

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“Um, well, I don’t have to go to BC. I mean, I don’t really know anybody there.”

She was looking at him, pleading, and Steve said don’t worry. “You’ll make friends.”

@#$

Holly was laughing and thinking this guy Gord was okay, he was all right. She never would have met anybody like him at the Docks with Linda and Sue, they’d’ve taken one look at him and said no way. Course, there was no way this guy Gord would ever be in a downtown club, dancing, getting shitfaced with the kids.

He was saying, no, he never had any kids, his one marriage broke up after a couple of years and that was a long time ago.

They were sitting in the plastic Muskoka chairs on the patio. There was an ashtray on the arm of Holly’s chair that was almost full, she kept lighting up out of nervousness. She hadn’t been nervous around a guy in years. She’d opened another bottle of red wine and got the real glass glasses out of the cupboard.

She said, “Was it the police work?”

Gord said, “What?”

“Why your marriage broke up. Your wife thought it was too dangerous?”

Gord said, yeah, that was it. “And the hours, you know, lousy long hours.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that what happened with your husband?”

“Working too much? No.” She laughed. “He never worked too many hours in his God damned life. He just couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, likes them young.”

She watched out of the corner of her eye, not looking right at him. She was happy to see he just nodded, taking it in, like these things happen.

Then he said, “Too bad. Guess he had no idea what he had was just going to keep getting better.”

“And better,” Holly said. “You need a refill?” And she held up the bottle.

@#$

Steve got to the top of the stairs and Freddie was standing in the hall talking on his cell. He held it to Steve and said, “It’s for you.”

Steve took the phone and kept staring at Freddie. He said, “Yeah?”

Victor said, “That your Jag?”

“Yeah.”

“So why don’t you just get in it and drive away.”

“What’s it worth to you?”

Victor said, shit man, “This has nothing to do with you. Just get in your car and drive away.”

Steve kept looking at Freddie and said, “So that’s the plan, you just let me walk out of the house and drive away, then you come in here and kill Freddie, make it look like you caught him ripping you off.”

Freddie shook his head like that was such bullshit and Steve held the phone out so he could hear Victor say, “Works for me.”

Freddie said, “The fuck you talking about, Vic.”

Steve put the phone back to his own ear and said, “Yeah, okay, it works for me, too. I don’t give a shit about Freddie.”

Summer had come out of the bathroom and heard most of the conversation and she was saying we can’t do that, and come on, and shit but Steve wasn’t listening. He was saying into the phone, “I’m bringing one chick with me,” and Victor said, fine, bring all the chicks you want.

“I just need Freddie.”

Steve flipped the phone shut.

Sasha had come up the stairs and Steve looked from her to Summer and said, “Who’s it gonna be?”

Summer said, “Fuck you, no one’s going.”

Steve turned and walked down the stairs, saying, “I am.”

Summer said, “Some hero you are,” and Steve stopped on the stairs and said, “Why’d you think I was some kind of hero?”

“I just thought,” Summer said, “you’d never let some asshole tell you what to do.”

Steve said, “Nice try, Summer,” and started down the stairs again.

And then Freddie said, “Wait. I’ve got an idea.”

@#$

Victor hung up his cell and thought maybe Gord had the right idea, maybe they should just wait and do this another night, but fuck, how much longer would Danny Mac wait before he just popped Vic? No, Freddie’s in there, somebody else with him, it’ll just look even better. Take them all out.

Victor took the Barreta and got out of the van. It was after midnight now, the whole sub division was dead. Dark and quiet. Okay, just go in shooting.

Then he saw the Jag and he had a better idea. He called Freddie and told him to put his friend on and said to whoever the guy was, he had a new idea. “I’m going to fire a couple dozen rounds into your brand new Jag.”

The guy said, “No, okay, don’t do that man, not my car.”

Victor was standing in the middle of the lawn then, looking at the house, the cell in one hand, the machine pistol in the other. He said, “Okay then. Just walk out and get in the car and drive away.”

@#$

Steve flipped Freddie’s phone shut and said the guy’s plan was just fine.

Summer said, “I don’t know,” and Freddie said, yeah man, “I don’t think we should open the door.”

“No,” Steve said, “it’s good. Look, he’s standing right there.” He flipped open the lock, looked at the extension coed unhooked, and then he looked at Freddie. “Hey, this is mostly your plan. You ready?”

Freddie had one of the sixty litre white plastic tubs on its side by the door. He said, “As I’ll ever be,” and Steve opened the door.

They saw Victor standing there waiting.

Freddie and Steve picked up the tub and rolled it out the door and down the lawn towards Victor.

He said, “What the fuck,” and did exactly what they knew he would.

He shot it.

And it blew up like the bomb it was, a flame shot up a hundred feet and the thing turned into a fireball rolling towards the van.

Steve, Summer, Freddie and Sasha ran towards the Jag. Steve fired off a couple of rounds from the Glock at the same time he pushed the little button on the keyring and the car doors unlocked.

Victor got it together enough to fire a couple shots but nothing hit the Jag as it took off down the street.

@#$

Gord was up and off the lawn chair and looking around the corner of the house as Victor came into the back yard saying, “Come on, the front door’s wide open.”

“Yeah,” Gord said, “and every cop in the city’s on his way.”

Victor said, “Come on, we can still do this,” and waved the Berreta.

Gord said, “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Get in the God damned house, you’re as good as Freddie.”

“You’re just going to kill me? Was that your fucking plan all along?”

“Yeah, you and Freddie both die in a fucking gun battle. I’m not saying it was a good plan, Gord, but it would’ve worked. This’ll work, too. The bad guys killed you, but they’ll never be back. Solves all my problems.”

“You’d kill me, just like that? What about Connie, what about my kids?”

“Fuck your wife, this is real.”

Victor fired a short burst from the Berreta and hit Gord in the stomach. He crumpled to the patio.

There were sirens then, seemed like from every direction in the sub division, and Victor turned around, took a step towards the street and said, “Shit.”

There was a loud bang and the bullet hit Victor in the back. He said, “Shit,” again and he couldn’t believe his plan would have worked, the guy who’s been shot gets off one last round, just like in the movies. He started to turn around to say something to Gord and he got hit again.

Holly stood there with Gord’s gun in her hand and watched Victor fall.

Gord, blood coming out of his mouth, blood from his guts all over the patio, looked up at her and said, “Yeah, that’s good. Get me inside before the fucking cops get here.” He started to lift himself up but he collapsed.

She said, “You’re married?”

Gord said, “What, so? Come on.”

Holly sat down on the patio chair and put the gun on the little plastic table. She picked up Gord’s cigarettes and lit one with her own lighter. She blew smoke at the stars and said, “You said you weren’t married. Bastard.”

When she heard the cop cars and fire trucks pulling up in front, Holly stood up and put Gord’s gun in his own dead hand. She stubbed out the smoke an stood by the patio door. She figured she could make how pissed off she was look like she was scared and freaked out.

Say something like, “I couldn’t believe it officer, these guys just shot each other in my own backyard.” Tell them one guy said he was a cop and she knew they’d say he wasn’t. They’d say he was a bad guy.

She’d say, yeah, she figured that out.

 

Copyright 2008 by John McFetridge

---

John McFetridge is the author of the novel Dirty Sweet and the upcoming Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere ("Grow House" takes place in the same fictional universe). He lives in Toronto. www.johnmcfetridge.ca