Desert Discord

by Henry D. Terrell

  “You’re joining the service?”

  “I got my letter from the draft board,” said Douglas. “If I’m called, then I guess it’s my duty as a citizen.”

  “Hmmm,” said Lewis.

  When Douglas was gone, Pence shook his head. “That guy’s lying through his teeth. I know he was growing that grass for De Ghetto, him and his buddies. There’s a lot of physical labor involved in an operation like that. De Ghetto didn’t do it by himself.”

  “You don’t think it was Taggart and the other two?” said Lewis. “Those men all did hard time. Especially Mitchell. He served five years in Attica for armed robbery.”

  “Possibly,” said Pence. “But it takes a lot of work to farm, even a dope farm, and I don’t see a lot of discipline in Taggart or his scumball friends. I’ll tell you what—we need to search that house top to bottom, and I especially want to get a look in that greenhouse. It was locked up tight, and they had sprayed white paint over the windows.”

  “Well, put in for a search warrant in the morning,” said Lewis. “You don’t want to give those boys time to clean everything up.”

  Ramona sat on a bench at the police station, holding her daughter’s hand. Erycca rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. The two had not shared this much intimacy in years. Saskia was there too. Apollo had been there for a while, but grew bored and drove Ramona’s car home.

  The cops had asked them to wait, so they waited. Finally, it was almost eleven o’clock, and Lieutenant Lewis came out and told them they could take Erycca home now—they were done for the night. With the significant exception of Timothy Kaufman, whose lawyer was making things unnecessarily difficult, all the relevant parties had been interviewed, even Reed in his hospital bed, and now it was time to recover.

  The three women left in Saskia’s car and drove back to Millard Street. In front of the house was parked Apollo’s sad little Corvair, where it had been towed after its sodden retrieval from Beechnut Draw. A mechanic had told Apollo he should sell it for parts, but Apollo wanted to get a second opinion.

  There was also a commercial van with Hilltop Pest Control on the side and a cartoon cockroach on its back with Xs for eyes. It was Reggie’s company van. He came out of the house balancing two boxes in his arms.

  He saw Erycca walking with her big sister. “Hey, I heard you were okay!” he said. “That’s fantastic. I was really worried …”

  “Shut up, Reggie,” said Erycca, and walked past him without a glance. Reggie continued to his van and deposited the boxes among several others. He was moving out.

  He tried Ramona. “Baby, I know it’s been rough with Erycca, and now Janey, but you haven’t heard my side of the story. You know I’d never …”

  “I don’t want to talk,” said Ramona. “Please just go away.”

  Apollo came out of the house. “You have two minutes, asshole!” he said. “Keep moving.”

  “Listen, you fat fuck,” said Reggie, “you touch me again and I’m bringing charges, I swear to God!”

  “Do you hear something, Ramona?” asked Apollo. “I’m not sure. I thought I heard a whiny pervert.”

  “Let it go, hon, please,” said Ramona, too weary for argument.

  Reggie slid the van door shut as loudly as he could, then drove away.

  Ramona and Apollo went into their living room, where Erycca sat on the couch with Saskia, neither speaking. Four of the five Piedmans were in the same room together, something that had not occurred lately.

  “I never told you,” said Ramona. “Janey called collect this morning.”

  “Really?” said Apollo. “When can we expect her home?”

  “I don’t know. She said she met some ‘cool people’ and they’re all going to California.”

  “I see,” said Apollo. “She’s awfully young to be a vagabond. But at least we know she’s alive.”

  “Yes. At least. I told her I was sorry about what Reggie did and she could come home, but she said she wasn’t ready.”

  “I suppose she’ll get it out of her system, then show up at our door asking, ‘When’s dinner?’”

  “I suppose she will. She’s officially a runaway now, not a missing person. The police say they faxed her picture to ‘various authorities,’ whatever that means, but the chances of finding her in California are slim. The state is full of runaways and lost souls.”

  The four of them sat in silence. Then Erycca spoke.

  “I wish I could talk to her. I’d tell her what’s important and what isn’t.”

  Andy didn’t know if he’d be able to spend the night out at the Jupiter house, or if he even wanted to. He still had his clothes, violin, sheet music, and other things in the trunk of the bug. He couldn’t go back to the Piedmans’, and the long drive out to his parents’ house was daunting. But it might be his only option.

  As he climbed into his car, he heard music in his head. It was so soft and quiet, it might have been coming from the radio. Usually, he recognized the pieces that came to him, but not this time. It was familiar—the violins rising in a slow cadence and in a minor key. He wasn’t expected anywhere, so he waited in his car.

  The music stayed quiet, like a small record player in another room, but he heard every note. It was … he couldn’t quite place it. He wasn’t sure it was something he had ever played. Maybe he had just heard it somewhere.

  The city was dark and the downtown streets quiet. Andy shut his eyes, hoping the music would grow louder. He knew he was coming to a time when the spirit music would be gone, and he would have to go back to hearing it the old-fashioned way. His thoughts grew clearer. He still had trouble reaching some words, but once he found them, he never lost them again.

  Andy sat still and listened.

  Verdi. The second “Requiem.” Probably the most beautiful piece the Italian operatic composer had created. Andy waited for the vocal part.

  A knock on the window made him jump. It was Douglas. Andy rolled down the window.

  “I think we’re in trouble, man,” Douglas said.

  Andy drove toward the south side of town, looking for an open gas station or convenience store. He spotted a bank of pay phones next to a bar called The Paree. A few sketchy characters lounged in the parking lot with cans of beer, chatting with a couple of exaggeratedly dressed ladies. Andy pulled over and dropped a dime into a phone.

  It was almost eleven thirty—late, but he hoped not too late. He dialed.

  A weary woman’s voice answered. “Yeah?”

  “Sherry. Hi, this is Andy. I’m sorry to call so late. Could I talk to Pug?”

  “Yeah, sure, Andy. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I just need to ask him something for a second.”

  Pug’s cigarette-scratch voice came on. “Hey, Andy. What’s up? Mama called me about what happened. I can hardly believe it. Everything all right?”

  “Yeah, man,” said Andy. “It was crazy. The cops are done with me for the night. Hey, I need a huge favor.”

  “Anything, little brother.”

  – 51 –

  Billy Might Find It Difficult to Sleep

  Simon Frost was in deep shit, and he knew it. These guys weren’t messing around. He was in the back seat of a Plymouth squeezed between two shitkickers who, he suspected, had every intention of beating him to death.

  They had grabbed him as he left the bank. He was working night shift this week and hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings when he left. As he approached his car, four men came out of the shadows. He tried to unlock the car quickly, but they were on him, surrounding him.

  “Let’s go for a ride, queer-boy,” said Randy Degraffenreid.

  “Leave me alone!” yelled Simon and tried to push Randy away. Others grabbed him from behind and held his arms.

  “Hey, you’re kinda pretty,” said Billy Dustin. “Come on! You want to hang out with us, don’t you? We like pretty boys.”

  Simon twisted his body and tried to escape, but Billy got him in a painful hea
dlock.

  “Put him in the back,” said Billy.

  “You can sit with me,” said Randy. “Hey, Joe, you sit on the other side and we’ll put our new buddy in the middle. Chris, you ride shotgun.”

  They forced Simon into the Road Runner, sitting in the middle of the backseat between two young men who smelled strongly of cigarettes and beer. Billy drove, and Chris Rhodes rode in front.

  “What do you want from me?” asked Simon.

  “We’re gonna take you to a party at your favorite place,” said Randy. “It’s a surprise party.”

  As they drove away, Simon got a glimpse of his little yellow car, which he’d only owned for a couple of days, sitting alone in the empty parking lot. Would they find it there in the morning? Would Nita call the police when he didn’t come home from work, or just think he had gone out with friends and not told her?

  Simon couldn’t see where they were going, but they were heading east on one of the wide northside streets. They passed Pelham High School with its enormous athletic field, then a couple of churches. They were close to Blocker Auditorium. They turned right and drove past the broad front of the huge structure, then turned right again on the street that ran alongside Murchison Park.

  “What did I ever do to you guys?” Simon asked.

  “You told lies,” said Billy, grinning back from the front seat. “You got in a fight with my little brother and his friends, and now you’re telling lies to the cops about how they robbed you.”

  “They did rob us!” said Simon. “They beat up Andy Zamara and took his wallet.”

  “Such a liar,” said Randy.

  “Fucking liar,” agreed Chris.

  They slowed down. Simon saw blinking red lights. As they drove past the park, they saw two police cars stopped with another car in between them. They had one man standing there in handcuffs, and another was on the ground.

  “Shit,” said Billy. “This messes up our plans. Now what? We can’t do it to him in the park after all.”

  “Let’s take him out to the sand hills,” said Joe, sitting on Simon’s right.

  “Yeah,” said Randy. “Take off his clothes and make him do a little dance for us before we kill him.”

  “Come on, please!” said Simon. “Just let me out.”

  “I think he wants to give you a blow job, Chris,” said Billy.

  “Oh, shut up,” said Chris.

  The Plymouth circled the park once, then headed back west.

  “I have another idea,” said Billy. “Let’s take him out to the Quarry.”

  “Yeah!” said Randy. “Fuck him up real good and then hand him over to the queers. For a present. They’ll appreciate that.”

  The Quarry was a bar on the southwest side of town, on a road that ran alongside a series of open gravel mines. Normally, such an out-of-the-way location would be death to a commercial enterprise, but as the city’s only real gay bar, the remoteness saved it and its patrons from harassment by the locals and from the raids that small-town lawmen liked to carry out when they were bored.

  They drove under the highway bridge that marked the unofficial edge of town. There was an abandoned cement plant and a couple of metal buildings, but not much else. They turned east on 3rd Street, which ran beside the pits, and then into a large parking lot of crushed caliche gravel. Several cars were parked haphazardly about, along with a couple of pickup trucks.

  At the back of the lot was a low, unadorned building with dim lights showing from the windows. Above the entrance was a small neon sign.

  The Quarry Lounge–Beer, Wine, Setups

  Billy stopped his car on the far end of the parking lot, and the four young men got out, dragging Simon with them. They surrounded him, moving in close.

  Simon looked around in panic for somebody, anybody, who might see what was going on and call for help.

  “Jesus, guys!” he said. “Can’t you just …”

  Billy landed a hard punch on Simon’s cheek, almost knocking him down.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, faggot! Did I interrupt you?”

  The others chuckled. They pushed Simon back and forth between them, hard, punching him in the chest and back. He tried to cover his face to protect himself. They kicked at his legs.

  “Oh God!” Simon yelled. “Please!” They continued raining punches.

  “Get his clothes off!” said Randy. He grabbed Simon’s button-down office shirt and pulled hard, popping off several buttons.

  “Hey!” a voice called. “You need help?”

  Two men had come out of the bar.

  “Yes!” screamed Simon. “Please, help!”

  Billy gave Simon a hard shove that knocked him to the ground, then turned to face the new arrivals.

  It was a tall blond guy with a beard and a cowboy hat, and a shorter, stocky Mexican-American with a wide neck and a beer gut.

  “What’s going on?” asked the short guy.

  “What do you fucking care, queer-boy?” said Billy. “Why don’t you mind your own goddamn business?”

  “Leave this man alone,” he said. “It ain’t a fair fight.”

  Billy stepped forward until he stood just two feet away. He was more than a head taller than the Mexican.

  “Get out of here or I’ll mess you up, faggot!” said Billy.

  “Come on, man,” said Joe. “That’s enough. Let’s leave. These guys aren’t worth it.”

  “I don’t like fat little Mexican queers telling me what to do,” said Billy.

  The tall man spoke up. “Really, you boys don’t know what you’re getting into. You need to get out of here, right now.”

  Billy took another step forward and gave the short man a hard shove with his right hand. “You get the fuck out of here, faggots. We’re gonna fuckin’ mess you up.”

  “I don’t think so. You boys need to leave this man alone, turn around, and go home.”

  “You think you can make me?” said Billy.

  Randy put a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Come on, Billy. Fuck these queers. That’s enough for the night. Let’s go.”

  “Bullshit,” said Billy. “I’m gonna take this faggot’s head off.”

  “I don’t think so,” said the short guy.

  Billy leaned forward. “Listen, queer. I’m gonna beat the living shit out of you. You think you can take me? See this?” He pointed to his chin. “I’ll give you the first punch. Take a shot at my face if you’re not too scared. Go ahead, you fat faggot!”

  Even though they were standing behind him, the others heard Billy’s ribs break as the body blow landed.

  Billy collapsed like a stack of cans. The short man stood over him, fists raised, ready to follow up, but it wasn’t necessary. Billy writhed on the ground, moaning, trying to get air into his lungs. With each in-breath, the pain was so great that he let out a sickly cry every time he breathed out.

  Chris, Randy, and Joe stood around in shock, watching their friend twisting in agony on the white gravel.

  The taller man let out a whistle. “Man, Punchy. You messed that dude up.”

  Several more men came out of the bar as word filtered back that there was trouble in the parking lot.

  “Take your friend to the hospital,” said Punchy.

  Joe and Randy got Billy by the shoulders and struggled to lift him as he screamed in pain. They managed to get him into the front passenger seat of the Plymouth. Joe tried to ease the seat forward so he could get into the back, but Billy screamed again. Joe went around to the other side of the car and climbed in after Chris. Randy sat down in the driver’s seat and started the engine.

  The Road Runner pulled away slowly, Billy Dustin writhing in the front seat.

  Punchy turned to Simon. “You okay, buddy?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” said Simon. “Thanks.”

  Punchy shook his head. “There was a time when I would have enjoyed doing that, but not any more.”

  The tall man chuckled. “That punk will never forget the night he met Punchy Zamara. Hey, this man was
a champion boxer, you know.”

  “Zamara?” said Simon. “Are you Andy’s brother?”

  “Yeah, I sure am!” said Punchy, breaking into a grin.

  “He’s my friend. We play in the orchestra together. He was best man at my wedding.”

  “Well, that’s great,” said Punchy. “I’m glad I came outside when I did. I was just heading home. Can I give you a ride somewhere?”

  “Yes, please,” said Simon. He rebuttoned the remaining buttons on his shirt and tucked it in.

  – 52 –

  The Death of Art

  It was Saturday morning, but Ramona couldn’t sleep in. There was too much on her mind. She got up quietly and shuffled into the kitchen to make coffee. Apollo had already made a pot, however. He sat at the kitchen table, blowing gently at a saucerful of strong coffee. He did this when he thought the coffee was too hot—pour in into the saucer and cool it off before putting it back in the cup and downing it.

  “Hey,” said Ramona.

  “Hey.”

  “Are you going to play golf today?”

  “No, not today,” said Apollo. “I’m going to go out to the college and clean out some of my stuff. There’s a lot of useless supplies that are way past their prime, and some unfinished shit that I will never finish.”

  “So, are you getting ready for the fall semester?”

  “No, Ramona,” said Apollo. “I’m done. I resigned.”

  “Wow,” said Ramona. “Just like that? You resigned your professorship?”

  “That’s right. I feel bad about doing it so suddenly, but believe me, it was coming. I don’t want to leave the college in the lurch, but they’ve got three weeks. Arnold Saur and Jim Blake can pick up the slack until they hire somebody. Jim deserves to be department head anyway.” Apollo carefully poured the coffee from the saucer back into the cup, shaking it to get the last few drops. Then he took a big gulp of coffee and sat still with his eyes closed.

  Ramona got a cup of coffee for herself and stirred in a spoon of sugar. She sat with Apollo at the table. It was the first time just the two of them had sat quietly across from each other in a couple of years. Several minutes went by, though it didn’t feel awkward to either of them. They had been through a lot together.