In the Shape of a Man

by Paul Clayton

  “You know,” said Father Mike, “when your sister first brought Jay here, he couldn’t dribble two steps, let alone shoot. Now, look at him! He’s got a lot of heart, don’t he?”

  Rad nodded. “You know I got in a kind of fight with the guy that lives down the block.”

  Father Mike answered as he watched the boys, “Did the police get involved?”

  “No. It didn’t go that far.”

  The priest seemed to feel it was not important as he continued to watch the practice. He turned to Rad. “You want to know the secret to life?”

  Rad smiled. “Sure. I can use all the help I can get.”

  Father Mike leaned closer. “There ain’t no secret, okay?” He laughed.

  Rad smiled and nodded. “I’ll remember that.”

  Father Mike slid off the bench and went down to the boys. He blew the whistle, signaling the end of the practice.

  Rad climbed down from the stands and went over to Jay, who was pulling on his jacket. Before they could leave, Father Mike came over and gave Jay a high five. He slapped Rad on the back.

  “Hang in there, Rad. Stay in touch and work on your relationship with your father, all right?”

  Rad felt weary and beaten, but hopeful at the same time. He nodded and looked down at Jay. “You ready?”

  Father Mike smiled at them and Rad felt the swell of hope inside. He and Jay headed out to the car.

  Tawny had always been pro-choice and had no misgivings about going to Planned Parenthood. She knew where it was, having already been there four or five times for her pills. Strangely though, this time, the usual trio of protestors—a thirty-something bearded, wild-eyed man with a Southern accent, a freckled fourteen-year-old girl, and an elderly nun—were not out in the parking lot waving at all who exited their cars. When Tawny went in the door she saw Jamie in the hall. Jamie, a young woman Tawny’s own age, had been very friendly to her in the past.

  “Tawny, how are you?”

  Tawny realized it had only been a little over a month since she’d been here last. She wasn’t out of pills and not due to show up here for another month or so. “Ah, I’m okay. But I have to see the doctor.”

  Jamie took her hand. She was very warm and physical, hugging and touching all who came within her orbit. “Are there complications?”

  Tawny smiled. “Yeah. The big one, I think.”

  “Hmmm!” said Jamie, frowning. “Have you been taking your pills?”

  Tawny tried to smile. “To the best of my recollection… yes.”

  “Okay,” said Jamie, “spoken like a lawyer. Well, sit down, Tawny. We’ll get you right in.”

  Later, as Tawny lay on the examining table, the paper blanket pulled up to her chin, she wished the doctor wouldn’t be so rough with his probe as he pushed it around on her belly. And the jelly they used for the ultrasound was cold and felt dirty to her. The doctor looked intently at the screen, never at her as he probed with the machine.

  “Well,” she said, “I suppose you concur with my doctor’s assessment?”

  The doctor grunted and continued to stare at the screen. Tawny craned her neck to see the monitor. “Can I see?” she said.

  The doctor frowned and turned the machine off. “I’m sorry, we’re just too busy. I’ve got thirteen patients waiting outside.” He got to his feet and quickly washed his hands. Tawny sat up, holding the paper gown close about her.

  “Get dressed,” the doctor said, “and they’ll schedule your procedure for you.” He smiled a little forced smile and left the room.

  Tawny dressed and went into a little conference room with Jamie. As they waited for the nurse, Tawny wondered what the procedure involved. She had never cared before.

  The nurse came in with Tawny’s chart under her arm. Jamie approached her. “Barbara, this is Tawny.”

  Barbara nodded without looking at Tawny.

  “Tawny has a question,” Jamie said.

  Barbara raised her eyebrows as she looked at Tawny. There was something in her eyes that put Tawny off; she was not sure what it was.

  “What is your question?” Barbara asked.

  “I was just, you know, wondering what will happen.”

  “Just some scraping,” said Barbara, “elimination of the uterine contents.”

  Tawny felt uncomfortable in Barbara’s gaze. “Well, what is it at this stage?”

  Barbara shook her head. “It has more in common with a frog at this point.” Barbara’s smile chilled Tawny. “It’s nothing, just a mass of cells.”

  Tawny again pondered what it was in Barbara’s eyes that made her so uncomfortable. Superiority, that was it! Barbara was looking down on Tawny as if she were trash, as if this procedure were the only option for a woman of her class. She hadn’t said that, of course, but the little smile on her face when she looked at Tawny, and the dismissive way she talked about it seemed to confirm it.

  Barbara handed a form to Jamie. “Jamie will help you schedule your procedure,” she said without looking at Tawny. “And she can help you with any further questions you have.” Barbara walked out.

  Jamie put the form in Tawny’s chart and pat her hand. “Don’t worry, Tawny. You’ll be fine a day or two afterward. Let me go over some of that with you.”

  Tawny walked through the parking lot toward the car. Jamie had said that she’d have some period-like bleeding and cramps and there would probably be some feelings of depression afterward. But they had some medication for that. Tawny realized she was a little depressed about it already. She looked forward to going home and just chanting about it. And she definitely wanted to talk to Terri. Terri had said that she could get guidance about it. Guidance meant that you went to, and were counseled by, a senior member in the Buddhist organization about whatever problem you were having. Terri had said that no matter what they told you, in the end it was your decision. They would not tell you what to do. They would always counsel you to chant a lot about it. That was the biggest thing.

  In the car, Tawny’s thoughts went back to the nurse—what was her name—Barbara. She was like some kind of woman warrior automaton. “Just a mass of cells,” she had said with that cold smile on her face, as if she’d like to do the procedure herself and just scrape it away. “It has more in common with a frog.” Was that supposed to reassure her? Tawny had been so freaked out by Barbara that she couldn’t wait to leave.

  As she drove the freeway she passed a playground full of kids. Some of them were skateboarding, taking turns as they glided down an incline, watching each other. Rad’s face suddenly flashed before her. This was ‘their’ problem, but he didn’t know a damn thing about it. She thought of the four or five couples she had seen in Planned Parenthood, the men, boys, most of them, sitting close to their girlfriends, some of them holding their girl’s hands. She imagined herself slapping Rad. Why the fuck weren’t you there with me holding my hand? She hadn’t told him, of course. And she wouldn’t. Her eyes teared up a little. She would never hit him, of course, not really; it would just be love blows. Ha! Despite her worries and fear she almost laughed aloud at the phrase. Love blows! Wasn’t that what the president got? He’d had that chick coming in the White House and giving him regular blowjobs and he didn’t even call it sex! If she and Rad had limited themselves to just that she wouldn’t be in this predicament. But she could never let a guy just use her like that. She had wanted her arms around him. She had wanted more. And now she had it.

  For a few moments Tawny allowed herself the distraction that the drama of the president’s recent troubles provided, recalling her shock when she’d first heard about the whole thing. Before that she’d seen him a million times on TV, always coming out of some church somewhere with that big bible in his hand and that big smile on his handsome reddened face, a face that she and millions of other women daily imagined. Wow! Tawny gave a slight, almost-imperceptible shake of her head. But what the hell did all of that have to do with her problem, she thought angrily. Nothing. Not a damn thing!

  As Ta
wny came in sight of San Bruno Mountain and South City she thought about Rad and how she used to admire his spirit. They talked a lot about spirit at the Buddhist meetings. Your spirit was your determination. It was the most important thing, they said. It was the spark. They even had a special name for it, Ichinin. Whatever you called it, Rad had it, even if he wasn’t a Buddhist. First it was for his boarding. He never gave up on that until it was obviously the end of the line. Then there was the Save the Mountain fight. He really got into that in a big way too. She thought of the last Buddhist meeting she had gone to. One of the women talked about how the real benefit of the Buddhist practice was seeing your life for what it was, not for what you wanted it to be. Only then could you begin to change it. This had come after a discussion of one of Nichiren’s writings, The Opening of the Eyes. Tawny rubbed her belly slightly. Was she getting any benefit from this practice? Or was she only kidding herself?

  She put some soft music on the radio. She smiled and rubbed her belly again, adjusting the seat belt so that it didn’t chaff so much. In spite of everything, she felt a vague hope. If Rad hadn’t gotten involved with that chick they could’ve gotten through this together. But she could still deal with it. She clenched her eyes as a single tear ran down her cheek. She shook her head sadly. Rad, why did you turn out to be such an irresponsible jerk?

  The blue of the bay appeared on her right, the brighter blue of the lagoon on the left. Tears ran freely down her face. She thought again about getting guidance. She pulled some Kleenex from the box and wiped away her tears. The idea of getting guidance gave her more hope and made her feel a little better. She looked at her watch as she turned off the freeway. She wondered if Terri had cooked anything. The thing inside of her was hungry, the thing that bitch had said resembled a frog. The little frog was hungry and so was she. It was time to eat.

  Chapter 33

  Captain Richard Turner, a detective in the South San Francisco police department, sat stiffly, hunched forward in the lounge chair in the Collins’ living room. The atmosphere in the house was strained. An abducted child was an awful thing to deal with, worse than a death. The couple sat on the couch staring down at the rug. The daughter, a cute little towhead, played with her doll as she sat in the mother’s lap.

  “Do you go to Green Park often?” Captain Turner asked the mother.

  Tina Collins nodded. “The kids like the playground there. It’s not as crowded as the one at the school.”

  “That’s part of the problem,” Turner said. “If there had been more people around we might have an ID on the kidnapper.”

  The mother said nothing in response.

  “And you said it was really foggy?” he asked.

  Tina Collins nodded. “I could see the bathroom building well enough when he went in there, but the fog came in thicker and then you couldn’t see it. That’s when I got Christine off the swing and we walked back down there.”

  Turner nodded. It had been foggy that day. In South City and Daly City sometimes patches of it rolled in so thick you couldn’t see five feet in front of you. It caused a lot of fender benders and the auto body shops probably loved it.

  He sighed. He’d gotten enough information to open the case. He wasn’t happy to get one of these cases this close to his retirement. These things could go on for one, three, five years, like the Amy Kelly case. And he had only thirteen months to go before he got his pension and retired to his place in Redding.

  Turner sighed and got to his feet. He looked at the family’s photo on the mantle. He went over to it, turned to Mrs. Collins and pointed. “Do you mind?”

  She blew her nose, then shook her head.

  Turner picked up the framed photo. In it, Mr. and Mrs. Collins sat on a park bench with the boy and girl. The missus held the girl, Christine, in her arms. She looked to be two or three in the photo. And the mister held the missing boy, restrained the boy was probably more accurate. The kid looked like he wanted to chase after something. The mister had a smile on his face, but the boy was almost unaware of him, focusing instead on something in the distance.

  Turner turned to the couple. “He’s a good-looking kid. Nice color. Is he Mexican?”

  The father shook his head. He looked drained of life, beaten. “His mother is from Guatemala, I think. She has a lot of Indian blood. We never did find out anything about the father.”

  “The mother was a prostitute,” said Mrs. Collins as she rocked her little girl.

  The detective looked at the father for corroboration.

  Allen Collins shrugged. “We don’t know for sure. It’s possible I suppose.”

  “You say he’s seven?” said the detective. “He looks awful small for seven.”

  Allen Collins nodded. “He was born premature and very small. The doctor said he would begin to catch up, maybe by the time he was eight or nine.”

  Captain Turner nodded as he put the picture back on the mantle. “Did he have any relatives in this country that would want him? Did anyone ever contact you about him?”

  “No,” said Mrs. Collins. “He had no one but us.”

  “He had nobody that we know of,” added Allen Collins. “I suppose there could be somebody out there somewhere, but we... They didn’t tell us anything about anybody other than the mother.” Allen Collins looked back down at the rug.

  “Well,” said Captain Turner, looking at Tina Collins, “do you have the things I asked for?”

  Allen Collins looked up at Detective Turner in confusion.

  Mrs. Collins sat Christine on the couch and got to her feet. She turned to her husband. “I told the Captain I would give him some of Reynaldo’s things.”

  Allen Collins nodded.

  Tina Collins went into the bedroom and closed the door. She put some of Reynaldo’s pictures and toys in a paper bag. As she reached for a Disney journal they had bought him, something told her to look inside. Most of the pages were empty, but a few were marked with Reynaldo’s scribbles, crudely drawn planes or ships, a few words, incomplete sentences. She turned to the last page and frowned. What appeared to be verse filled the page, five lines, block letters.

  TODAY I WOKE UP WHEN THE TREE SCRATCHED THE WINDOW

  I WAS SCARED

  I HEARD DADDY GET UP FOR WORK

  I WATCHED HIM GO AND I WAS SAD

  MOMMY WONT BE MEAN TO ME WHEN DADDY IS HERE

  Glancing at the door, Tina Collins tore the page from the book. She folded it and put it in her pocket. She put the Disney book in the bag with the other things and went back out into the living room.

  Detective Turner took the bag from Mrs. Collins. He sighed as he looked at her and her husband. “I’ll call you tomorrow to schedule another interview. We have to talk more about the day he disappeared, you know, go over the details a little more. Maybe there’s something that slipped your mind and will pop back in by then. Things happen that way.”

  Back at his office, Detective Turner sat down heavily. He put the bag with the kid’s things on his desk. On the computer screen he saw that he had some email. There was a message from Fran Cleary, the Realtor up in Redding. She had the condo’s escrow papers ready and wanted to know when he was coming up to sign them.

  Turner took out the pedophile CD. It listed them all—where they lived, where they worked, their phone numbers. There were hundreds on the San Francisco Peninsula, all of them supposedly reformed, registered, and released by the system, and, more than likely, researching where they’d find their next victims—Boy Scout troop, little league, basketball team. He put the CD in the drive. While it was loading he pulled open the file drawer on his desk and took out a manila folder. He found Reynaldo’s name. He looked for the phone number for the boy’s birth mother’s social worker. The birth mother was a head case, it sounded like. Never held a job, on welfare for years, a shut in but for counseling visits. But he didn’t think she had anything to do with this. Still, he had to check into it. His mind went back to the Collins. The father had that faint scar on his cheek—got to
o close to the rose bushes while he was gardening, a fight with the wife, a girlfriend, or something else? He’d have to explore that a little. The mother Tina was obviously the one who wielded the buggy whip in the relationship. And something about her bothered him too. He would have to interview them separately, of course.

  Turner turned back around to the computer and looked at the list of names. He picked up the kid’s picture from the folder. Jesus Christ! Such a sweet-looking little kid. What kind of son of a bitch would hurt an innocent kid like that? He sighed. Thirteen more months of dealing with the dregs of humanity and sad stories like this and then he was retired, free. He would do nothing but go fishing, watch the sports channel, take trips to Reno, and the occasional shopping trips with Pamela. Thirteen months. Thirteen goddamned friggin months!

  Turner picked up the phone. He’d better schedule the parents’ interviews as soon as possible.

  Chapter 34

  Tawny had been surprised when Rad called and asked her out. She’d been hoping he would, and if he hadn’t she would have called him. She had decided to talk to him about her situation, ‘their’ situation.

  Terri drove Tawny to Tawny’s old place. Tawny waved goodbye as she walked up the steps and knocked on the door.

  “Wow!” said Rad when he opened it, “what did you do with your hair? It looks great.”

  “I got tired of the old color,” she said. Actually, she had felt the need to dye it an auburn that closely resembled her original color. It was a statement that she felt good about.

  “You want to come in before we go?” said Rad.

  Tawny didn’t want to take a chance on them ending up in bed again. “No. It’s such a nice day, let’s get going.”

  Rad locked the door and they walked down the steps.

  “How’s Ketsel?” Tawny asked.

  “Eh, I don’t know. I haven’t checked on him lately. I called Gabriel last week and he said he would come and get him soon.”

  “Yeah,” said Tawny, “that’s always what he says. Where are we going?”