Cricket Hunters

by Jeremy Hepler

  “His car hasn’t been there any night I’ve gone,” Cel said. “I think he spends most nights lifting weights and smoking pot at his friend Felix’s apartment. If he is home, though, I won’t go in.”

  “How do you plan on getting in?” Parker asked.

  “She leaves her bedroom window cracked open so Frito can come and go as he pleases while she’s at work.”

  Parker stood and excitedly rubbed his hands together. “All right. I’m in.” He looked at Abby. “Come on. You have to come.”

  Shaking her head, she twirled her hair with her finger. Cel could tell by the look in her eyes that she didn’t want to go, but she also didn’t want to reject Parker. They shared a secret now. A bond. She trusted him. He was her special friend. If he asked her to jump off the Empire State Building, she would contemplate it. But if Cel asked her the same question…

  “We won’t get in trouble,” Parker assured. “If someone is there we’ll just come back. Right, Cel?”

  Cel nodded.

  “The more people we have as lookouts, the safer it’ll be.” Parker nudged Abby’s shoulder with his, then he put his hands on his hips and artificially thrust out his chest like he had the first night of cricket hunting. “Come on. We’re the Cricket Hunters. One for all and all for one…” He shrugged and smiled. “Or some shit like that, right?”

  Abby smiled back. “Okay.” She held up a defiant finger. “But I’m not going in the house.”

  Cel led the way on her bike with Parker perched on the back wheel pegs, his hands on her shoulders. Abby followed on her silver, banana seat Schwinn. When they reached Clover Lane, Cel slowed to a stop in the shadow of the same rusty camper half a block from Maria’s house that she’d hid her bike behind the past few nights. Parker hopped off, and she propped the bike against the camper. Abby pulled up next to them and rested her bike next to Cel’s.

  Cel walked to the front of the camper. “It’s up there on the left.” She pointed. “The white one with the blue trim.”

  “The one with the porch light on?” Abby asked. “Don’t you think that means someone’s home?”

  “No,” Cel answered. “That light stays on all day. Besides, look. Neither one of their cars are there.”

  “So how do you want to do this?” Parker asked. “We need to hurry.”

  Cel scanned the street for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. She pointed at a tall cottonwood across the street from Maria’s house, the same tree she’d hid behind when she’d watched the house the past few days. It stood on the corner of a large sloping front yard, the small house behind it dark and quiet. She’d busted out the streetlight that lit that yard and Maria’s yard and the street between the two houses, with a rock days earlier. “Abby, you hide behind that tree over there and watch for cars.” She met eyes with Parker. “While I go around back to the window, you wait on the side of the house where you can see her.” She looked at Abby. “You have your lighter?” Abby nodded. “Good. If you see Maria’s green Explorer or Jose’s Mustang coming just hold it up and flick it so Parker will see and he can warn me.”

  Abby pulled out her pink lighter. Her hand was slightly trembling. Her eyes bounced from house to house, driveway to driveway, car to car, Cel to Parker. “How long is this going to take?”

  “It should only take a couple of minutes,” Cel answered.

  As Abby scuttled across the road and positioned herself behind the tree, Cel and Parker quick-walked to Maria’s house. They cut across the driveway and crouched under the eave between the A/C unit and a length of hurricane fence that separated the back corner of the house from a detached garage. Cel looked at the cottonwood across the street and could see a vague oval shape extending out from the side of the trunk like a tumor. Abby’s head. “You see her?” she whispered.

  Parker nodded and waved at Abby who waved back.

  “All right. Wait here.”

  Cel hopped the fence, and as she crept along the back side of house, she quietly recited two spells. The first was the same protection spell Yesenia had cast over her every time she left for school since the age of five. The second, a disarming spell she’d memorized from one of her abuela’s grimoires while Yesenia was at the hospital watching over Tia Dillo. She recited the protection spell more out of habit than necessity, as quick and thoughtless as a catholic girl would a nighttime prayer, but she whispered the disarming spell slow and mindful. Yesenia had taught her that seasoned brujas trained their familiars to stay alert for malicious spirits and humans, and that familiars could telepathically communicate dangers to their masters if the bond between them was strong enough. Cel knew her casting ability was weak compared to the connection between Maria and Frito, but she hoped the disarming spell, if cast with enough conviction, would make Frito view her as a nonthreat long enough for her to catch him.

  Cel passed under the kitchen window, a tiny bathroom one, then stopped under Maria’s, which was open about ten inches as expected. She placed her back against the house and listened. She heard the steady whirring of the ceiling fan above Maria’s bed but nothing else. No voices, no TV, no signs of life.

  She held her breath as she rose and peeked into the bedroom through the parted curtains. She knew it was possible that Frito had left the house and was scouring the neighborhood for rats or mice. But she also knew that Frito was old, fifteen or so, fat and spoiled. Both times she’d looked in the window earlier this week, he’d been sleeping on Maria’s bed. Tonight proved the same. A pulsing swirl of orange fluff dotted the center of her pillow, the head aimed at the headboard.

  Cel released the air trapped in her lungs and examined the rest of the room. The queen-sized bed sat against the wall to her left. A talisman with an azabache pebble in the center like the one in her own room hung above the headboard. On one side of the bed, a humidifier sat on a small rocking chair that had sweaters draped over the back. On the other was a nightstand with a lamp. A purplish blue, silk scarf covered the lamp shade, dimming and tainting the faint glow. The wall opposite Cel had a closed closet door and an open doorway leading out into a dark hall.

  Her eyes stayed trained on Frito as she eased the window open as far as her arms allowed. She placed her hands on the window sill, and with the help of her tennis shoes gripping the wood siding, hoisted herself up into the opening. Without taking her eyes off Frito, she lowered her right foot down onto the carpet as gently as possible, twisted, and did the same with her left. She stood there for a moment waiting to see if the cat would sense her. It didn’t. Perhaps the disarming spell was helping. She tiptoed over to the doorway leading into the hallway and started slowly closing the door to prevent Frito from bolting out of the room. When the door was about a foot from shut, the hinges squeaked, and Frito’s head snapped her way, his pupils dilated with intense focus, ears perked and rigid.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered as much to calm herself as Frito. Her insides felt as though they had been tossed into a blender. Her breathing and heart rate escalated. Familiars were smart, fierce. She needed to hurry. She extended her hand as an olive branch, palm up, and took a couple of steps toward the bed.

  Frito stood and turned her way.

  She continued along the side of the bed, whispering soft assurances as she moved, and stopped in front of the rocking chair.

  Frito’s nostril’s flared, sniffing at the air as though he’d been trained to recognize the enemy’s scent. Her scent. He stared at her for a moment longer, then his back arched, his teeth bared, and he hissed.

  Cel lunged at him and grabbed the back of his neck. He yowled as if his warm insides were being torn out, and he slashed at her forearm with his front claws. She reached across the bed with her other hand and pulled him to her chest. He dug harder into her arm, biting down with his needle teeth for added effect. His hind paws pushed against her torso, the sharp claws ripping through her shirt and fileting the top layer of her flesh with the ease of a razor. She gritted her teeth against the sharp stings and squeezed him tighter. So
tight his ribcage crackled, and the air rushed out of his lungs.

  When she turned to make her way back to the window, her foot knocked the foot of the rocking chair. The humidifier crashed to the floor with a plastic clatter, and seconds later, a voice called out, “What the fuck, Frito?”

  Jose. It had to be Jose. When did he get home?

  Keeping Frito pinned against her chest with one arm, she rushed to the window. He was still struggling but with less vigor. She threw one leg through the hole, ducked her head just low enough, and toppled out of the window onto the ground. She landed on her right shoulder and hip, sending a current of thick, painful vibration through her body, rattling her to the bone. But she didn’t release Frito.

  As the sensation faded, she opened her eyes and saw Parker running toward her. He dropped to a knee and placed his hand on her hip. “Are you okay?”

  “We have to go,” she said weakly, as though it hurt to talk. “Jose. Coming.”

  “What? But nobody’s gotten home.” He grabbed her arm and helped her stand.

  “He’s—”

  The light in Maria’s room flicked on.

  “Shit,” Parker said. “Come on.”

  They ran, a deep pain piercing Cel’s hip each time her foot slapped the ground. Parker hopped the fence first and reached for Frito. “Give me the cat.”

  Cel obeyed, and, as she hopped the fence and landed on the other side, Jose yelled, “Hey! What the fuck are you doing?” It sounded as if he were close, outside, probably hanging out the window.

  Parker called out to warn Abby as they sprinted across the driveway and down the sidewalk. “Run! Run! Run!”

  When they reached the bikes, Parker shoved Frito at Cel and mounted her bike. “I’m driving.”

  Cel stood on the back wheel pegs. She pressed Frito to her chest with one arm, cinching her hand around his neck tight enough to feel bone, and wrapped the other arm around Parker’s waist. She leaned on Parker, hard, mashing the cat against his back with all her weight. Frito weakly struggled but soon stopped fighting. Parker rolled the bike out from behind the camper and glanced up the street. Abby was running toward them, about fifteen yards away, pressing one arm across her chest to keep her breasts from bouncing. The few seconds it took her to reach them felt like an eternity. She jerked her bike away from the camper and hopped on. “What happened in there?”

  Neither Parker nor Cel answered. Parker took off, and Cel craned her neck to watch behind them. Jose was standing in his front yard, shirtless and shoeless, with a baseball bat in his hand. The porchlight highlighted the anger etched on his pinched face.

  “Go, go,” Cel urged.

  Parker pedaled across the road, cut through a yard, and was turning onto an adjacent street when Abby squealed just before the hiss of metal scraped loose gravel. Cel looked back and saw Abby scrambling to stand, her bike sideways, the handlebars and front wheel twisted at an odd angle. Jose stepped off the porch and started marching her direction.

  “Abby’s in trouble,” Cel said into Parker’s ear. He slowed to a quick stop and looked toward the house. Abby already had her bike upright and one leg over the frame. He watched until she’d pedaled a good ten yards, far enough to escape if Jose ran after her, and then took off.

  “I will find out who you and your friends are, Tits!” Jose yelled, his deep voice rattling the still night air, chasing Abby as she turned off of Clover Lane and closed the gap between her and Parker. “Pussy motherfuckers!”

  They made the return trip to Abby’s house in half the time it had taken to get to Maria’s. Parker pedaled furiously, occasionally glancing back to make sure Abby was nearby. Cel closed her eyes and laid her head on the back of Parker’s neck. Despite the growing sting from the tiny slashes on her arms and abdomen, and the dull ache dominating her hip and shoulder, she felt mentally elated. She’d successfully broken into Maria’s house and stolen Frito. She’d separated Maria from her strongest ally and power source. She’d done everything she could to help Tia Dillo. And now she was pressed up against Parker, allowing the sweat from his neck to wet her cheek, fleeing a crime scene like Bonnie and Clyde. Two rebel lovers riding the thrill of taking a stand. She wished the ride home could’ve lasted forever. She opened her eyes and raised her head when Parker slowed to a stop in Abby’s driveway.

  Abby ditched her bike in the grass on the side of the house and walked over to them. A sheen of sweat covered her face. Strands of her hair clung to her cheeks and forehead. Blood trickled from a scrape on her knee. She put her hand on her hip, shot daggers at Cel with her eyes. “I told you it was a stupid idea. Now what are we going to do? What if Jose calls the cops?”

  “I told you that you didn’t have to come,” Cel snapped back.

  “Hey,” Parker interjected, carrying out the eeyyy like a mom trying to shush feuding toddlers. “Everything’s going to be fine.” Abby’s eyes met his and softened a bit. “Jose didn’t get a good look at us. Even if he does call the cops, he doesn’t know who we are.”

  “He may not have seen you guys, but he saw me good enough to call me Tits.” Abby’s eyes filled with tears, and she looked up at the sky for a moment, pinching her lips together. “He’ll figure it out. And when he does…” She trailed off and shook her head.

  Parker touched Abby’s arm. “Listen, I promise everything will be okay. If by some chance he figures it out and calls the cops and they come to us, we deny everything. We were at your house watching The Goonies with your little brother tonight. Jeff will vouch for us as long as we promise to hang out with him for a while this weekend or something, right?”

  Abby took in a ragged breath and nodded.

  Cel wanted to tell Abby she shouldn’t worry about the cops, that Jose would never call the cops. That’s not how the Lopez family worked. Not with something like this, anyway. When Maria found out her sidekick, her best friend, her confidant, Frito, was missing and had probably been stolen, she would want revenge, not justice. But Cel didn’t say anything. Abby had made it very clear more than once that she didn’t believe in the curses, anyway.

  Abby glanced at the tufts of orange fur poking out from between Cel’s chest and Parker’s back. “What are you going to do with it?”

  Again, Cel withheld the truth. She knew what she had to do with Frito. But the less Abby knew, the better. “I’ll probably take him deep into Hunter’s Haven and let him go.”

  “You better do it tonight. If anyone catches you with him, we’re all screwed.”

  Cel nodded. “I will. I don’t want to get caught any more than you do.”

  Following a short silence, Abby glanced at Parker, and he gave her a caring smile. “Is your leg okay?” he asked.

  Abby looked at her leg as though she hadn’t realized she’d been injured. She looked back up, her pleasure with Parker’s concern evident in the expression on her face. “It’s just a scrape. I’ll be fine.” She glanced at her house. Jeff was peeking out of the blinds in the living room. “I better go talk to him. I want to tell him what to say before my mom gets home.”

  “Don’t tell him about the cat, though,” Parker said. “The less he knows the better.”

  Cel smiled to herself. She’d thought the same thought, was going to give the same advice. They were on a wave.

  After watching Abby enter the house, Parker told Cel to hold on and then pedaled away. He cruised at a slow pace as they navigated the alleys and short cuts through Gateway. Cel kept her eyes open this time and didn’t ask him why he didn’t stop when he pedaled passed his own house. A couple of times he turned his head sideways, cut his eyes at her and smiled, his mouth inches from hers. When they reached Cel’s house, Yesenia’s car, a beat-to-hell ‘82 Starlet, wasn’t in the driveway, meaning, like Cel had hoped, she was still at the hospital.

  Cel eased off the bike pegs and followed Parker around the side of the house into the backyard where he leaned the bike against the house next to the mess of cricket sticks. She still had a firm grip on Frito’s neck
and was pressing him against her chest. The cat’s eyes were closed, legs and tail limp as noodles.

  Parker eyed the cat. “Is he dead?”

  “It doesn’t feel like he’s breathing.”

  Parker placed his hand on Frito’s chest. “I don’t feel a heartbeat.” He took Cel’s hand, gently pulled it away from Frito’s throat, and twisted it back and forth, examining her wounds. Some of the scratches had bled enough to color her fingers and palm crimson. The skin around each cut was red and raised, irritated by dirty cat claws. Streaks of blood also colored the chest of the white Nirvana T-shirt she wore under her unbuttoned blue flannel. Frito’s talons had ripped through the fabric and flesh. “You better clean these off good when you go in so they don’t get infected.”

  “I will.”

  They held eye contact for a moment before she leaned in and kissed him, the cat once again separating their torsos. When their lips parted, she thanked him for helping her and bringing her home, and he replied by kissing her again. She moaned into his mouth when his hand slid down and gripped her hurt hip.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry.”

  She smiled and looked down at Frito.

  Parker followed her gaze. “You think it’s going to work?”

  “I hope so.”

  “You want me to go toss him into woods?”

  Cel looked at the cricket sticks leaning against the house. She knew Frito was technically dead, but she feared that Maria might know some dark way to bring him back, to resurrect him with some mystical ritual if he hadn’t been destroyed properly. The sticks were on the same plane with familiars, the plane of the brujas and curanderas and videntes. Yesenia always said to inflict damage on that plane, you had to use a weapon designed for it, an enchanted weapon. Hence the cricket sticks. Cel didn’t want to take any chances. “I need to…” She met eyes with Parker, hoping to convey her intentions, hoping he could read her mind.