Tacoma Stories

by Richard Wiley

  Years ago there’d been a piling sticking out of the water some fifty yards offshore in front of Richard’s house. It was long gone now, but Richard couldn’t help thinking of it as a sarcophagus for his poorly spent youth. He looked toward where it had been.

  “Your girlfriend died, too?” he asked. He could hear the caution in his voice.

  “She was darker’n Winnie, didn’t care ’bout pets, and half the time she didn’t like me, but other’n that she was Winnie’s whatever you call it … like a twin you never met. That’s how I first come to notice her.”

  “Winnie’s doppelgänger?” said Richard. “What was her name?”

  “Name was Hetshepsit, but I called her ‘Hetty.’”

  They had walked down to just below Richard’s old house. During the month or so that Perry’d lived with them, when Perry’s mother and Richard’s father were trying to work things out, Richard had tried, too, to make an actual brother out of him. But as soon as it grew clear that living together wasn’t working, Perry’d picked a fight with him. They’d been right here, and the tide had been more than halfway in.

  The boulder seemed smaller and more ancient than it had at the time of their fight. It extended only a foot out of the rocky beach.

  “Winnie lived next door to you,” Perry said. “I used to sneak into her basement. Snuck into yours a couple a times, too.”

  He stepped up onto the boulder, looking down at Richard.

  “Let’s get back to Hetshepsit,” said Richard. “How did she die, and does her death have anything to do with Katie’s?”

  “Died of bein’ a whore. Her mother was a whore before her ’cause whorin’ was the family business. If you wanted, you could find ’em in the Egyptian whores’ registry, but I pretended I didn’t know about it.”

  A burst of cold wind came in off the bay. The rain had not let up. Perry got down off the boulder again and bent to pick up a couple of rocks, this time looking at Richard out of weasely eyes. “Okay, since yer askin’, she died of gettin’ a pillow in her mouth,” he said. “Come home late and laughin’. Late’s okay and laughin’s okay, but a man don’t cotton to both….”

  He threw a rock up toward Richard’s house, where it disappeared into an ivy bank. “You coulda let us keep on livin’ here…. You coulda told yer dad that drinkin’ weren’t the worst thing in the world, but you wanted me outta yer life.”

  “The way I remember it, it wasn’t just drinking. Your mom was a little like Hetshepsit,” said Richard.

  He braced himself for Perry’s fury, but Perry was concentrating on his remaining rock.

  “It weren’t just you. Seems like ‘Get out of my life’s’ been people’s slogan for me my whole life long, so I figured I’d oblige ’em. That’s why I wanted us to come out here today, Richie. Figured I’d get myself gone where yer daddy and my mother got me started. You remember how I always used to hate to swim?”

  “I do,” said Richard, “but I think we came out here so you could say you smothered Hetshepsit and admit to killing Katie. So go ahead and say it. I’ll keep my promise.”

  He braced himself again, but Perry only said, “Well, I guess you’re gonna think what you’re gonna think. What’s the word the newspaper used for how Katie died? Was it ass fixation? They think the man who killed her had lewd thoughts, but even if he did, Katie weren’t messed with. I made sure of that before I picked her up. Any fool knows that Winnie couldn’t have no messed-with sarco-gophus. I hope you’ll tell her parents that if you ever run across ’em.”

  Now Richard stepped up onto the boulder, to look for exit routes, he supposed. But all he saw was empty beach.

  “The word the paper used was asphyxiation,” he said. “I guess that’s how Hetshepsit died, too.”

  “When we was livin’ here, my mother told me lots of times she’d change, but she never did. I guess yer dad was right about that much…. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. I also guess my mom and me is just about the same.”

  He swung his arm around, kicked his leg back, and flung the rock he still held down toward a seagull standing in the nearby shallows. In the old days, he’d have brained the seagull first try, but the rock landed in front of it. He picked up another, bigger rock, turned to smile at Richard again, then smashed it mightily into his own forehead. It knocked him back a couple of feet, but he managed to stay upright.

  “Perry!” screamed Richard. But Perry’s eyes shone merrily below a starburst of blood. He hit himself twice more, until he fell to his knees and the seagull he’d tried to brain flew off.

  BACK AT RICHARD’S HOUSE, Donna and Beverly grew worried after Richard and Perry had been gone for a little over six hours. Donna’d called Richard’s cell a few times, but he didn’t answer, so at her urging, Beverly called Detective Triplet, who agreed to come over before his night shift started. At Detective Triplet’s urging, she also called Clement Page, who drove over, too, with Susan Blake beside him in his car. He hadn’t received Beverly’s letter yet, so he believed the call to be from his subordinate.

  Why these five would so readily gather at Richard’s house, which probably wouldn’t happen normally, can be credited to the goings-on of the day before. These five, plus Bill, who worried about Richard, too, but was glad to see Clement Page’s interest in someone other than his wife.

  “I’m sure it seems so to you, but six hours isn’t that long,” Detective Triplet said. “After twenty-four hours maybe we can act.”

  His reaction at seeing Susan Blake was the opposite of Bill’s when seeing Clement Page. It made him fall back on his rule book. When Beverly asked if he wanted coffee, Donna’s frustration boiled over.

  “We’ve got soda, too, or how about a beer?” she said. “Good Christ, under these conditions six hours is plenty long!”

  “Why not try calling again,” said Susan Blake. “Sometimes persistence pays off.”

  “Harrumph,” said Donna, but she pulled out her phone.

  She could see by its clock that the number of hours Richard and Perry had been gone was now a lot closer to seven.

  NEAR THE ROAD THAT RICHARD AND PERRY used to get to the beach stood an ancient cement boat ramp, crusted with barnacles and stacked with driftwood and seaweed and kelp. Richard meant to carry Perry all the way back to his car, then hurry off to the hospital, but by the time they got to the ramp he’d grown too heavy and Richard had to put him down. The tide had come in sufficiently to lift the driftwood slightly, but Perry’s weight plus Richard’s settled it back down. Perry’s blood was all over Richard’s arms and face and chest, so he dipped his hands in the water to wash himself off. He’d been aware of his vibrating phone when standing on the boulder, and when he felt it again now, he pulled it from his pocket, nearly dropping it in the bay when he tried to answer it.

  “Listen, Donna,” he said, “you have to call nine one one.”

  “Richie, thank God! Are you hurt, Richie? What’s going on?”

  “Remember the old boat ramp? Used to belong to the Irwins? Tell them that’s where we are. Please, Donna, hurry up and call them. I don’t think we have much time.”

  “Richie?” said Donna, but Richard disconnected. He chanced a look at Perry, who lay beside him with his head smashed in and his eyes half open. Did that mean he was alive or dead?

  “You know them sarco-gophuses, Richie?” Perry asked.

  Richard leaned down close to him. “Yes,” he said, “I know them.”

  When Perry said “Be mine,” those heart-shaped candies that children used to pass around on Valentine’s Day came into Richie’s head. He looked at his phone again. What if Donna didn’t remember the boat ramp? What if her sense of their youth was different from his? He’d just decided to call 911 himself when Donna called back.

  “The firemen are on their way and so are we,” she said. “Now what happened, Richie? I’ve got you on speakerphone.”

  “He wants me to be his sarcophagus,” said Richard.

  He heard “What?” from Bev
erly, Bill, Detective Triplet, Clement Page, and Susan Blake, all of whom were in Donna’s car with her.

  “We’re on a stack of driftwood and the tide’s coming in,” he said.

  “Are you stuck there, Richie? Come on, honey, answer me. Are you hurt?”

  Richard knew he wasn’t making sense, that seeing Perry beat his head in had scrambled his brain, too. He couldn’t think and also couldn’t see very well. When he looked at Perry now, Perry seemed to rise above him.

  “Richie?” said some of those in Donna’s car, but he heard only murmurs. When the tide came farther in, never mind their weight, the driftwood groaned up off the boat ramp.

  “We’re on our way now, Perry,” he said. “Set sail for Egypt, maybe, or for wherever Winnie is.”

  “Richie? Richie?” said the phone murmurs.

  Perry wore a threadbare jacket zipped to his neck. Beneath it Richard imagined the same striped T-shirt he had worn as a kid. As the driftwood lifted, a wind rose, too, to tack them out toward the shipping lanes.

  “I can’t be your sarcophagus, Perry,” said Richard, “I haven’t lived well enough,” but Perry only said, “Be mine” again.

  The rain and the wind increased as the emergency medical crew showed up. Men got out of their truck and ran down to the shoreline to raise their arms and shout. Donna’s van skidded on the gravel, turned sideways, righted itself, and stopped only inches from the fire truck. Donna got out and ran to the end of the boat ramp. She took off her shoes and was about to dive into the bay when Beverly caught her and held her in her arms.

  Clement Page and Susan Blake stopped midway between the top of the beach and the waterline while Detective Triplet hurried down to show the firemen his badge. Bill had run onto the boat ramp, too, chasing Beverly, but when he saw how Donna’s love for Richie made her want to swim to him, he took off his shoes and pants and shirt. No one noticed it save Susan Blake, who left Clement Page’s side to gather Bill’s clothes. “Go and get them, Bill,” she said. “Bring them back to shore.”

  Bill didn’t look at her, but his eyes met Beverly’s when she turned and saw him standing in his underwear. He went to the end of the boat ramp, slipped into the water, and began swimming out.

  “Hey! Come back here!” yelled a fireman, but Bill wasn’t taking orders from anyone.

  When Richard noticed his phone again, he saw by its timer that he’d been connected to Donna for twenty-five minutes. He sat up to look at those who’d gathered on the shore. And then he saw Bill.

  “Someone’s coming to rescue us, Perry,” he said.

  “Ain’t no rescuin’, Richie,” said Perry. “The time for rescuin’s over.”

  As commanded by his words, a swell from a passing freighter reached them just then, causing the part of the raft holding Perry to break away from the part that Richie was on. When Perry’s side began to sink, he moved his hands from his sides to link them on the top of his chest. Richard watched him disappear from the surface of the water, his face still visible beneath it. When the strands of kelp that connected them broke and also went down, however, Richard lay back, linking his fingers, too.

  He stayed that way until Bill got there and pulled him back to shore.

  MUCH LIKE THE KELP HAD KEPT PERRY ATTACHED to Richard for a while, Perry’s disappearance kept the rest of them together for most of the next week while police boats dredged the shoals of the bay. By week’s end, however, a deluge caused the postponement of the search.

  Clement Page was the first to break the bond they’d formed when he finally got Beverly’s resignation letter and told them without looking Beverly’s way that his workload was such that he had to get back to it.

  The second to break away was Detective Triplet. He, too, spoke without looking at Beverly, but she thought she understood something in it and walked him to the door, with Bill not far behind her.

  “Thanks for everything,” she said.

  “Good-night and good luck,” said Bill, making Susan Blake laugh.

  Each night after Perry’s disappearance, Bill went to his garage to work on Richard’s car, and twice Richard joined him. To work on a car with one’s son-in-law seemed just the thing after all they’d been through. That Bill was not his son-in-law was entirely beside the point.

  The next to leave, two days later, was Susan Blake. On the night of Clement’s departure, he’d called her to say he had another terrific Bordeaux, causing her to say she’d grown partial to cabernet sauvignon. The next night, when he called to mention a good cabernet, she said that Malbec was more to her taste. He didn’t call again, and Susan went home alone.

  That left the nuclear family: father, mother, daughter, and son-in-law. Bill and Beverly had their own house, of course, but when one of them went there, the other stayed at Richard and Donna’s. Donna didn’t like that. She was tired of having people around, so on the evening of Susan Blake’s departure, she asked Richard to go with Bill to his garage, then told Beverly that she needed time alone. She thought Beverly might argue, but Beverly said she could use some time, too, and left after giving her mother a kiss.

  Donna found some bourbon in Richard’s cupboard, poured a couple of fingers of it into a glass, got some ice, and went into his living room to sit. She hadn’t been back to her house since Perry’s arraignment, and now she played with the idea of selling it. Richard had asked her to a couple of times before, but she’d put him off. It had been a good move for her financially—the house was worth twice what she’d paid for it—but she sometimes feared that Richard thought it meant she didn’t love him. And she did love him, if not with all her heart, at least with the part of it that told her whatever she waited for wouldn’t come. Or wouldn’t come again. She rarely thought of Beverly’s father, unless she was drinking alone.

  Beverly never thought of her father. She didn’t think of Richard much, either, and though she often thought of Bill, it wasn’t in the way he wanted her to. On the night she left her mother, in fact, she drove past Bill’s garage, not because she was thinking of him, exactly, but to make sure he was there. He was and so was Richard. She could see them through the window, looking into Richard’s old car. She parked and took out her phone. Since Detective Triplet wasn’t working nights that week, she tried his home number. It rang seven times before he answered. He said he’d been asleep, that he’d needed an early night after all they’d been through. He didn’t say more until she told him she was thinking of buying a couple of double meat, double cheese burgers at the Frisco Freeze and asked if he’d like to share them with her. She thought he might say he’d meet her there, but he said they could eat at his house if she liked. She didn’t pause before saying she’d be right over.

  When she got off the phone, she texted Bill to say they needed to talk. When Bill got the text, he sighed before he read it. Not because of some premonition but because it was the second text he’d received that night, the other one from Susan Blake, and he thought she was texting him again.

  TWO WEEKS LATER, WHEN THEIR LIVES were once again in disarray, Perry’s body washed up among the detritus that the tide brought in at Point Defiance. When Richard heard about it, he cried like he hadn’t since he was a child. When Clement and Susan and Donna and Beverly heard about it, they went about their business, only nodding to themselves.

  Bill was the last to hear about it but the first to offer to go to the morgue and identify the body. It was there he met the parents of Katie Smothers. They might not have spoken had Bill not seen their photos in the paper and stopped to offer his condolences.

  “It’s all just the damnedest shame,” said Mr. Smothers.

  That struck Bill as odd. Why would they come view the body of the man who’d killed their daughter, and what was the damnedest shame?

  It wasn’t until the following morning, when he went out onto his porch to get his paper, that he understood. An autopsy had come back saying Katie had died of asphyxiation, yes, but caused by a heroin overdose.

  Bill would have shown th
e paper to Beverly, had Beverly been home. Since she wasn’t, he called Richard and shared it with him. Richard shared it with Donna, and Donna shared it with Beverly, who’d been sleeping in the house she grew up in.

  News of Perry’s innocence was picked up by the wire services and printed in one of the English-language dailies in Egypt. Hetshepsit read it while working in her mother’s stall at the local bazaar. She hadn’t died of getting a pillow in her mouth, nor was whoring the family business, nor had she lived with Perry White. When she shared the article with her mother, her mother remembered that Perry had often come to their stall. She remembered that they’d put up with him for a while but had finally told him that if he wasn’t going to buy anything, he had to make room for those who were. After that, he didn’t come again, and now they were reading the article. When the news broke in Tacoma, Judge Follett dismissed the charges against Perry, posthumously. It hadn’t been necessary, but when Richard called to thank him for it, he said it was only just, and that justice was his business.

  Richard quoted him at dinner that night before asking Donna to sell her house again. Donna said she couldn’t sell it while Beverly was staying there, though both of them knew that Beverly spent most of her time at Detective Triplet’s.

  Their dinner was a particularly delicious salmon that Donna had bought down on Ruston Way after sitting and watching the Canada geese for a while.

  Perry was buried in the same cemetery as Winnie, but several sections away, in a plot next to his mother.

  For the next half year, someone brought him flowers every Saturday.