by Michael Dunn
“Jack, what are you doing?”
“I have to see something.”
“Dammit, Jack, you’re an accountant, not a doctor.”
He undid the bandage, saw the bite marks, and then just stopped and stared.
“Dee, do you have your camera in your purse?”
Dee carried a compact Canon Demi camera in her purse and handed it to Jack, who snapped a couple pictures of the wound.
“What are doing?”
“Taking a couple pictures.”
“Obviously. But why?”
“I have my reasons… for insurance purposes.” Jack hoped that reason would cease inquisitiveness.
6
It was a long walk back to the trailer park and Tony was wary about going home because he knew what was waiting for him when he returned and dreaded it for good reason. It would be a beating that would make JP’s thrashing look like a light slap on the wrist. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was killed on sight, because he had threatened the survival of the community tonight and put everybody in the trailer park at risk and he knew the penalty for that was death.
As Tony entered the trailer park, he found JP leaning against the streetlight, underneath the basketball hoop, smoking a cigarette.
“Is she going to be all right?” JP asked.
Tony nodded wearily. “Yes, for now.” His tone showed his exhaustion. His feet were hurting in the destroyed and bloody rental shoes.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” JP asked. His tone was calm, but menacing, as he flicked his cigarette off to the side. “Do you know if it had been me who bit my girlfriend, Bordeaux would have killed me and Kirsten on the spot? You know what that means, don’t you?”
Tony didn’t know nor did he care. His head was swimming with the events of this disastrous night, one he hoped would be ending soon. JP’s riddle was the last concern on his mind, but he thought if he played along for a couple of seconds, maybe JP would leave him alone.
“I give up. What?”
“It means he favors you! He’s always favored you, y’know? You’re his golden boy! You’re the boy who can do no wrong, no matter how badly you endanger the rest of us!”
Tony started walking away, saying nothing.
“Get back here!” JP grabbed Tony’s arm.
“Go to hell, JP! I’m not in the mood!” Tony walked past him, pulling his arm free, but JP caught up to him. He walked backward in front of Tony, pointing his finger at him.
“No! You hang on a minute! Do you know how stupid and selfish what you did was?”
Tired of JP’s barking, Tony pushed JP to the ground and stood over him. “No, it’s not! I know what I did! I brought a wounded girl here who needed our help! You risked this place more than I ever did! You killed twelve men, you fucking psycho.”
With a roar, JP jumped up and tackled Tony and within seconds, both boys changed into their wolf-forms swiping at each other with claws instead of fists and biting at each other’s throats. Tony’s already mangled and bloody tuxedo was shredded by JP’s claws.
Their fighting caused such a raucous that one by one the lights in the neighbors’ homes went on, awakened to see their two best and brightest fighting. In their current states, it was not hard to differentiate between the two: JP was the white one and Tony was the brown one, and the fight was too close to call for any betting man to put odds.
Bordeaux stepped outside horrified at what he saw. The elderly man in the tattered blue bathrobe ran through the crowd to break up the fight.
Bordeaux ran between the brawling teen wolves, pushing them aside with more force than one would expect from a man of his advanced age. Both boys flew backwards and fell hard on their butts several yards apart. Seconds later, Tony and JP changed back and looked like normal high school students again in torn and shredded clothing.
“What the hell’s going on?” The old man growled.
Tony and JP began pointing at each other, barking accusations.
“Enough! Both of you, listen! My days are almost up and I would like to think this place will go on long after I’m gone! For that to happen, everyone here will have to show some discretion and recently, neither of you two have shown even the least bit. There are other peoples’ lives to consider around here besides your own. So, you go home and leave Tony alone!” Bordeaux roared. Then he pointed to Tony. “And you go home and fix this situation as neatly and quietly as possible! You know what happens if it gets sloppy.”
“Yes sir,” Both Tony and JP nodded.
“Good, then get to bed.” Bordeaux headed back to his trailer. With nothing more to see, the other residents went back inside. With that, the long and terrible night was over.
Chapter Seventeen: The Second Life and Death of Tony’s Car
April 25, 1971
Ed Tallfeather gave Tony a ride to the crash site the next morning in his tow truck. Tony wanted to avoid this place the best he could, but these things need to be done and supposed it was best to get it over with as soon as possible.
“Are you sure you want to do this today?” Ed asked when Tony asked him if he could give him a ride. Tony had told him what had happened the night before and the boy looked exhausted, haggard, and emotionally gutted that morning.
Tony gave a reluctant nod, arriving at the garage several hours early for work in his mother’s station wagon.
It was a slow Sunday at the garage, which was open from 9-3 on Sundays, and there was only one car in waiting, a white 1965 Chevy Corvair that needed so much work it would not be finished before Tuesday. Instead of working on the Corvair, Ed took the tow truck and went for a drive to the crash site. He did this as a favor to Tony, because despite what the boy was and where he came from, he genuinely liked the kid, and he was a quick and good worker. They both sat in silence until they arrived at the large oak tree with a dead car sticking out of it.
“Wow,” was all Ed said after he got out of the truck and surveyed the wreckage. The front end had collapsed inward like a metal accordion. The Bel-Air was totaled.
When Tony touched the cold steel of his car, he began to cry. He was lucky to have found two loves of his life by the time he was seventeen. The first was his car.
2
He found his car during one balmy evening in the summer of 1968, three years before the ill-fated raid at the VFW/Moose Lodge, when he and his friends trespassed through Lammy’s Junkyard one night. Tony and JP were both fourteen. The other two, Benny and Larry, were a year younger and a grade lower.
The boys had spent the days of their summer vacation learning visualization and mental control from Bordeaux and would continue the training for a couple of years so they would be ready when the change came, and by evening they were exhausted. When the training was over for the day (and right around the time Bordeaux had just about enough of JP’s smart mouth), the boys went looking for some fun and the junkyard was always a good place to go. It was away from the trailer park, there was always a lot to do, and most importantly, it was forbidden.
JP and Tony took their time and stuck together as usual while the other two went ahead, singing Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs’ tune, “Little Red Riding Hood.” JP had something to get off his chest.
“I can’t believe that ‘by the power of the moon’ shit Bordeaux was spewing,” JP complained to Tony as they climbed over the chain-link fence. There was a prominent red and white sign warning trespassers would be shot on sight, but the sign was generally ignored. The boys landed with a cloud of dust rising underneath their sneakers. “I mean, what is all that mystical shit?”
Tony nodded, then thought of how JP was driving Bordeaux nuts. “I think it was more metaphoric than anything. He meant that huge celestial body in the sky is going to have more influence on us than we realize.”
“Duh, I get that.” JP slapped Tony’s shoulder. “Give me some credit. I’m not Benny. I’m just saying he should be teaching drama instead of meditation.”
“Hey, are you girls go
ing to talk all night or what?” Benny called out to Tony and JP. Benny and Larry were already in the junkyard. The opening game for the evening was hide and seek.
Tony and JP ran towards their friends. The junkyard wasn’t well lit so they needed flashlights. They could not yet see in the dark, but that would come in time. Their growing abilities were tantamount with their normal adolescence and their development would be gradual. When the first complete change occurred, they would be well-trained and ready.
Tony and JP went looking for the others. Tony walked slow and steady searching for his friends, but also had to be on guard. Rumor had it a large, vicious dog also roamed the junkyard looking to eat boys like them. Regardless, the hunt was on.
Tony stopped suddenly during his search, something weird was going on. He knelt down and sniffed the dirt. There was a scent.
“Benny?” Tony whispered. He followed the scent and strangely enough, he was able to pick up the scent while standing upright, and he could even follow the scent while running. Sure enough, the trail led him to Benny, who was lying under a rusted out 1960 Studebaker Lark VI.
“How did you find me?” A surprised Benny asked, crawling out from under the car.
“Because you stink,” Tony answered. “Hey, JP, I found Benny!”
“I found Larry.” JP called out. He was a natural hunter.
“You know what was weird?” Larry asked JP. “I heard every footstep you made since you jumped the fence.”
“That is weird.” JP helped Larry out of the backseat of the filthy green Oldsmobile 88 where he had been hiding.
Tony ran when he heard Benny scream.
While screaming, Benny kicked the driver’s side door of a smashed, long-dead black LaSalle and the car flew a few yards and rolled to the fence.
“Oh, my God! You guys should have seen the size of that fucking rat!”
They laughed and regrouped, except for Tony, who wandered off alone. Something had caught his eye see it and he wanted a closer look. Within a moment of its presence, Tony stood there mesmerized, almost in awe, and instantly in love.
“Tony!” JP called out when he was out of the sight of the others. When JP heard no response, he ran to find Tony. JP feared the dog, Attila, had gotten him. The others followed.
“What are you doing?” JP asked, seeing his best friend staring at a rusted junker of a car.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Tony asked, still transfixed.
The others saw, only in a liberal definition, something somebody would call a car. It was a shell of a once beautiful red and white 1957 Chevy Bel-Air. It didn’t have any wheels. The remnants of the windshield were jagged shards of glass along the edges. The red and white coloring was fading and only the growing rust spots were dynamic. The beige interior was ripped and the foam rubber cushioning was exposed. The radio was gone. The fins were dull and the red taillights were busted. It was the corpse of a once beautiful automotive machine. It still had rusted Ohio license plates.
“Beautiful?” JP asked. “This scrap metal deserves to be made into a mortar shell and dropped on the VC. Did they pull that from a river or something?”
Tony shook his head, still staring in awe at the shell of a car stacked high off the ground on top of other dead cars. The boys didn’t realize they were walking through the land of the dead.
“Naw, all it needs is to be fixed up right and given a little love. You’ll see.” Tony said, not taking his eyes off the car since he had seen it.
Tony and JP were staring at the car when Benny screamed, “Hey, look!”
Benny pointed to the biggest, meanest, Doberman pincher the boys had ever seen. The dog growled and sized them up, believing it was the most ferocious beast in the junkyard. Benny, and Larry ran toward the opposite fence.
Tony stood next to that ugly shell only he called a car, like he was protecting it from Attila. The dog ran toward them, but it looked like it wanted JP the most.
When the dog began its charge, JP stood between the Doberman and his two fleeing comrades.
“Come on, JP! Let’s go!” Benny said, after he and Larry cleared the fence.
JP shook his head and just stood there. Tony thought maybe he was too frightened to run, but before the dog was upon him, JP leaned forward, formed his hands like claws, then roared at the dog. It was not a roar a human could make. It was a roar of a large, wild beast, more ferocious than the dog ever dreamed of being, like how a Tyrannosaurus Rex might have sounded, a roar that was too big for a boy like John-Paul Grenier.
The Doberman slid in the dirt and stopped within a foot of JP when it turned around and raced back to where it came, yelping, wishing to flee from its obvious superior. The boys, much like the dog, were both amazed and horrified of JP. They stopped and stared at him.
“What?” JP asked, like nothing had happened.
“Do you know what you just did?” Larry asked the blond boy, who was wiping the dust the dog kicked up off his body and clothes in disgust. JP didn’t mind the blood, but he hated being dirty.
“Did you know you could do that?” Benny asked.
“Um… no, not really. C’mon let’s go. I know where we can get some beer,” JP said and led the way.
Tony followed, reluctantly leaving the car behind for the night, but staring at it until it was out of sight. Tony then turned his attention to JP and understood his friend’s reason to leave. JP was scared, probably even more than the rest of them. They kept hearing about what the change was going to be like, but it was apparent none of them were ready for it to happen just yet. Each needed a lot more mental and emotional preparation before the time came.
3
“You know, it’s a piece of shit, right?” JP asked Tony as they headed back to Lammy’s junkyard a couple days later and during the day.
“It is right now, but you didn’t see what I saw.”
“You’re not going to tell me you had a religious experience that night, are you?”
“No, well… not exactly.”
“It’s a piece of junk. You’re wasting your money,” JP said, on their walk.
“I can bring that car back to life. I know I can. Then, when the car is running,” Tony said, looking JP straight in the eye. “This town won’t know what hit it. And do you know how the car will improve our lives?”
“How?”
“Girls.”
JP smiled. He never thought of that.
“You saw what condition it was in. It’ll take you at least two years to get it running.”
“We also cannot drive for two years, and my job at the service station’ll teach me what I need to know.”
Bordeaux had arranged for Tony to get a job as an attendant and assistant wrench monkey at the garage/gas station by the Reservation. Ed Tallfeather was reluctant at first to hire the boy, but the Navajos owed the old man a favor and agreed. Tallfeather and the mechanics were betting the kid would quit in less than a month, and they didn’t make it easy for that kid because some of the mechanics either refused to help the boy or flat out ignored him. Tony was the butt of many pranks, like the time they had Tony stand under the oil pan as the boy unscrewed the plug, then watched and laughed as warm oil drained onto the boy’s face.
However, the likable youth proved to be a valuable asset to the garage, because he possessed an almost instinctive ability to know how to fix cars and trucks. Tony worked part time after school, weekends, and full time during summers ever since.
They opened the gate of Lammy’s junkyard, and walked to small shack toward the middle of the lot Lammy called an office. Behind a small, cluttered desk sat a fat, sweaty, balding man in a soiled undershirt, smoking a cheap cigar, watching a baseball game on a small, battered black and white TV.
“Can I help you, boys?” Lammy Sidomak had the throaty, heavy voice of a blues singer who had smoked and drank too much in his lifetime. Whatever it was the boys wanted, Lammy planned on getting the boys out quickly so he could watch the ball game. The Texas Rangers were losing
3-2 to the Chicago White Sox and the suspense was killing him. “I ain’t buying nuttin’, if that’s…”
“I’m thinking about buying that old convertible in the back.” Tony said.
That got Lammy’s attention. Money beat out baseball any day of the week, but these were just kids. They didn’t have any money, did they?
“Is that right?” Lammy asked, not looking up from his television. “How old are you boys?”
“We’re not planning on driving it. We’re planning on looking at it.” JP piped up.
Tony nudged JP to be quiet.
“Are there any laws on how old you have to be to own a car?” Tony asked the junk dealer.
There were none that Lammy knew of, but then again he wasn’t much on the law unless it concerned him directly.
“Can we at least have a look?” Tony asked. “We’ll pay in cash.”
‘Cash’ was the word that got Lammy out of his chair and the boys noticed it took considerable effort to separate Lammy from his seat. He got up, turned off the TV, and led the boys toward the car. The fat man stood up and the springs in his chair let out a loud sigh of relief and the junk master smelled like he hadn’t showered in days. The boys covered their noses when Lammy walked passed them.
“Sure, why not? How do you know about the convertible? It’s way in the back.”
“We, um, saw it through the fence.” Tony was sweating. If Lammy suspected he was lying, he showed no sign of it.
The two boys followed Lammy to the dilapidated convertible. Attila ran to see his master, but once the Doberman smelled, and then saw JP, he ran away yelping.
“What’s gotten into Attila?”
The boys covered their smiles behind their hands, but Lammy did not see it.
“There it is, boys.” Lammy pointed to the wreck.
Once again, the junked automobile transfixed Tony, hypnotizing him, luring him closer, seductively. It was true love.
JP closed his eyes and shook his head disapprovingly. “I still don’t get it. What do you see in it? It’s more than ten-years-old and a piece of shit.”
