Joe

by H. D. Gordon

  Mr. Landry, on the other hand, had more to say than usual. Michael was behind the store grabbing more crates, and the old man and I were in the store room taking inventory when he looked over at me from the opposite side of a low shelf containing cartons of cigarettes.

  “Joe?” he said.

  I looked up from the clipboard I was holding, raising my eyebrows in question. I figured he had some other task for me to do or that maybe I had messed up somehow with the orders.

  Instead, he said, “He’s a decent boy.”

  It was such a random thing to say that it took me a moment to realize that he was referring to Michael. My face must have shown my surprise, because Mr. Landry gave a rare half-smile. “Oh?” I said. I could think of nothing else.

  Mr. Landry’s face went serious once more, and I shifted the clipboard in my hands uneasily. “Yeah,” he continued. “He’s a decent boy. Maybe a little too…inquisitive for people of our tastes, but he’s pretty smitten with you, besides all that.”

  Umm, okay. What was that supposed to mean? Mr. Landry never made such observations, at least not verbally. I stared at him a moment, searching for how exactly to respond to that. “Wuh-what do you mean?” I asked.

  The old man waved a hand in dismissal. “How’s school going?” he asked, changing the subject too abruptly.

  My eyebrows were drawn tight in confusion. “Fine, sir,” I said.

  Mr. Landry never inquired into my life. Was he doing so now because he felt responsible for me? Like he had to play the father role now that I had introduced him to a guy? I didn’t think that was it. I didn’t know what it was. This was utterly weird. At least it was a distraction from my other depressing thoughts about knives and gun shows.

  For several long moments, the two of us just stood there staring at each other. I got the impression that he was battling with something. He had the same strange expression on his face as he’d had this morning. I waited. Eventually, his face was set indifferent again and he nodded once to himself. His mouth fell open as if to speak.

  “Where would you like these, sir?” Michael said, walking into the storage room with two large crates stacked in his muscled arms. Mr. Landry and I both jumped a little at his voice.

  After one last considering look at me—and maybe there was a little relief there, too—Mr. Landry turned toward Michael. “Just set ‘em down over there, son,” he said, and headed out the back door.

  I watched as Michael set the crates down carefully, his tan skin shining with sweat over his carved muscles. He straightened up and offered me another smile. I returned it, my pulse picking up pace once more. Having very little experience with the opposite sex, I felt sort of like a fish out of water.

  “That was the last of them,” Michael said. “You need any help in here?”

  I shook my head. “Almost duh-done here too…Th-th-thanks for the help.”

  His green eyes lit up beautifully. I sighed in my head. I had to admit, I liked this boy, but I was still suspicious. What had Mr. Landry said about him being too curious? Really, what had Mr. Landry said overall? I would have to ask him, or else it would bother me for the rest of the day, and other things needed my attention.

  “You’re very welcome,” he said. He looked down at his feet. “What are you doing after this?”

  Me? Oh, nothing much. Just going up to UMMS to study a sketch I drew that predicts a terrible massacre that is supposed to happen there, probably tomorrow. Just your typical Sunday. No big.

  A sardonic smile touched my lips. “I’ve got s-s-some errands to r-run,” I said.

  Michael’s face took on an uncertain look. “Oh. Well, I was wondering if maybe you would want to go get some lunch or something.”

  About a million excuses ran through my head, and I think my jaw unhinged and probably wagged a little unattractively. I snapped it shut and tried to decide what to say. Was he asking me out on a date, or just being friendly? Surely it was the latter. Guys like him didn’t go for girls like…well, girls like me. He probably just saw me as some sort of mystery or conquest. I knew these things and yet, it was more difficult than usual to get the excuse from my lips. Whoever said looks didn’t matter was wrong. It would very nearly be a sin to turn down a man as attractive as Michael. But, still…

  “She would love to,” Mr. Landry said, shutting the door to the back of the shop. “You guys worked quickly. I can finish up here. Just let me grab you some money and then you can go.”

  Again, my jaw fell lax. Today was shaping up to be rather strange. Even for me.

  A smile lit up Michael’s face once more. “Not necessary, sir. I was glad to help.”

  The old man nodded. “Thought you were going to say that. Well, thanks again, then. Why don’t you go wash up? The restroom is at the front of the shop. I’ll send Joe out in a minute. Just need to go over the inventory with her one more time.”

  Michael did as he was told and disappeared through the door to the front of the shop. Mr. Landry came over and stood in front of me. He stared at me in that strange way again, and as if coming to some final decision, he said, “I’ve lived a long time, Joe.”

  When he didn’t continue, I nodded my response.

  He let out a sigh that came from old, dry lungs. “Long enough to know that the best way to live is to stay out of other folks’ business.” Mr. Landry tapped his head with a calloused finger. “Got enough going on up here already without concerning myself with others.”

  Another long pause. I waited.

  “But, well, you’re a good girl, Joe. I’d like to think that if I’d ever had a daughter she would’ve been something like you. You’ve helped me out a lot in the past four years. Saved me from a hell of a lot of trouble, that’s for sure. And I’ve never said nothing about it, because I know you like your privacy, just like I like mine.”

  He paused to scratch his head. I just continued staring. This was the longest speech I had ever heard from him, and I didn’t think he was finished yet.

  He wasn’t.

  “I just want you to know that that young man out there doesn’t have any bad intentions toward you, but he is…well, curious.” Mr. Landry gave me a level stare. “And the last thing people like me and you need is someone who is too curious.” He let out a short laugh now as he took in what must have been my lost and confused expression. “You picking up what I’m putting down, Joe?”

  I wasn’t. Not at all, but I nodded nonetheless. My confusion along with Mr. Landry’s strange comments was starting to make me uncomfortable.

  “Okay,” he said. “Fine.” He waved a hand for me to go, and I moved quickly to obey. When I reached the door that Michael had disappeared through, the old man stopped me.

  “Joe?”

  I turned back around to face him, my eyebrows going up once more.

  “Stop by my apartment when you get home, would ya? I got something for you. And…and be careful, okay?”

  I found myself nodding for what seemed like the hundredth time since this day had started. If I was being honest, I wasn’t so much uncomfortable as I was touched by Mr. Landry’s concern for me. As random and odd as it may be, it was something I was not used to getting from anyone other than my Aunt Susan. I certainly couldn’t count on my own father for such advice. It was the way he was saying it that made me uneasy.

  People like me and you.

  What was that supposed to mean? I could have let it go and left then, but Michael wasn’t the only one who was curious, which was an observation that seemed unfounded to me. Michael had hardly said anything all day, let alone asked any questions.

  I swallowed hard, wondering if the question on my mind was a wise one. But when I looked up at the old man again, he seemed to be waiting for me to ask it. “Sir…what do you mean buh-by ‘puh-puh-people like me and-and-and you’?” I asked.

  Mr. Landry sighed again. “Just…you know, people who need their privacy.” He waved his hand again, shooing me away. “Stop by when you get home today, okay?”
/>   Of course, I just nodded.

  I had a feeling I was “picking up” more of what he was “putting down” than I wanted to admit. Surely, he couldn’t mean…

  “I will,” I told him after a moment, surprised at the way those two words seemed to fall from my mouth without hindrance. A tiny, fragile bubble of hope was floating up inside of me, but I popped it before it could bloom too large. Mr. Landry wasn’t like me. He wasn’t clairvoyant. I knew this for sure.

  But that doesn’t mean he isn’t…like you.

  And just what was that supposed to mean? I decided I would make it my business to find out.

  “I will,” I said again, and found that a smile was left on my lips. Whether it was because of the residue of my busted hope-bubble, or the alien fluency of those two words, I couldn’t tell you.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Michael

  The raven-haired girl emerged from the door that led to the back room of Mr. Landry’s shop. Michael reminded himself yet again that the girl’s name was Joe, but the nickname he had given her in his own mind seemed to be making itself at home. As long as he didn’t slip up and refer to her as the raven-haired girl verbally, it would be okay. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Joe made “short-spoken” an understatement.

  She was smiling now, and Michael noticed again how alluring she was. Smiles were rare on her. He found himself smiling in return. “So, is that a yes on lunch?” he asked.

  Joe took a long time in answering, and Michael watched her closely as she grappled with the decision. He felt that he could never tire of looking at her face. The thought took him aback. Since when had he become some sappy romantic?

  When she finally met his eyes with her own silver-blue ones, he felt his breath catch. Since I met her, he thought.

  “Okay,” she said.

  This response made him happy.

  “Okay,” he agreed. “How about we go get cleaned up. I mean, not that you need to get cleaned up, I mean you look fine just as you are, beautiful actually…” He trailed off. He just couldn’t be smooth around this girl. Joe was watching him with one brow slightly raised and a crooked smile on her face. He ran a hand through his hair. “So, yeah. Can I pick you up in an hour? Do you live near here?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay,” he said. “Then all I need is your address.”

  ***

  Michael drove home, showered, and picked out a short-sleeved button-up shirt and some khaki-colored shorts. He found himself whistling around his apartment while Trey gave him poorly-veiled concerned looks. Michael didn’t notice, nor would he have cared. The raven-haired girl had something about her that he just loved, and he’d meant it when he had told her that she was beautiful. She made him feel excited, as though he were in the middle of some fantastical story and she was the driving force behind it all. He found it amazing that he could feel so strongly about someone whom he barely even knew. Then again, even though he had dated many girls, he’d never felt this way about anyone. Joe was truly something special, and he knew it. He really was a good judge of character.

  As he dressed and styled his hair in a messy way that was painstakingly difficult to obtain, he thought about where he would take her for lunch. Somehow the decision seemed very important. Just where did one take a girl like her? Then he got an idea that was brilliant, and grabbed a large blanket out of his closet. He stuffed the blanket into a wicker basket that his mother had given him last Christmas—filled with sausage and cheese and crackers that were long since gone—and headed out the door. Next he stopped at the deli down the street and picked up sandwiches and chips and a couple of sodas.

  He knew just where to take the girl, and on a Sunday, the setting he had chosen would be quiet and deserted and perfect. The Quad at UMMS was a gorgeous place even when filled to capacity with people, but it was something else entirely when the only thing to see was the rich green grounds and large old oaks and stone buildings.

  The Quad on a Sunday was the perfect place for a romantic picnic. Perfect. He knew it.

  Our friend Danny was of the same mind that afternoon.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Decider

  The anticipation was almost too much.

  Everything was in place and ready to go. You would think that he would be trying to savor and cling to it. According to the plan, today was to be his last full day of life. He planned to shoot himself tomorrow—just before the police arrived—which still left plenty of time to do great destruction. Even so, for Danny, Monday could not come soon enough.

  He had risen at seven-thirty, as he did every morning, and finished his last journal entry before breakfast. It had been some grade-A shit, too. Something tasty for the fuckers to chew over and analyze. He knew what the world’s reaction would be. He almost wished that he would be around to see it. Nearly everyone in the country would know his name. The aftermath would surely be something to savor.

  But the waiting was agonizing. Just one fucking day to go. Thinking about it gave him one hell of a hard-on.

  The box he planned to leave outside of the Channel Five News station had been arranged with great care. The leather-bound black journal was on top. Underneath was a recent picture of himself, one that he thought he looked especially good in, one that would make the news for weeks if all went well. Next to that was a video diary on which he had ranted (not the word Danny would have used) about everything under the sun while holding a black Glock Nine to his temple. The last things in the box were a small, chocolate-brown teddy bear and four votive candles—a salty gesture to the mourners who would soon gather at UMMS for a candle-lit vigil. Take that, you sonsabitches. Take that.

  He had cleaned the three guns that he planned to take with him, polished the black irons metal until the tips of his fingers were raw. Currently, they were locked in a blue trunk that he kept in the rear of his bedroom closet. On top of this blue trunk was a plain black backpack which was loaded to capacity with ammunition for the irons. Black leather gloves sat beside the pack. Hanging above, on the bar that held his simple wardrobe—mostly slacks and discreetly-colored button-up shirts—hanging on tan plastic hangers. His wardrobe was pushed evenly to either side to leave an open space in the middle. Here hung two hangers. One held black cargo pants–all those pockets would come in handy, yes indeed–and a black t-shirt. On the shirt, printed in white, block letters: Darwin’s Law.

  Survival of the fittest, motherfuckers.

  This thought made things stir and tingle in his nether regions. This thought felt good.

  At the moment, he was sitting on the edge of his tightly-made bed, practicing reloading the Nine and the .45. His hands were making love to the two weapons simultaneously. His fingers flew over their flesh with ease and familiarity, prodding and poking and snap!-ping and click!-ing. The irons moaned under his touch. They were sweet and wet little bitches, and they were ready to ride. Yes, they felt good.

  There was only one thing left to do, and that was to check out the scene of the coming battle, get one last look at where his destiny would be realized, stand on the grounds where his legacy would be born into life–spat out in blood and wails between the sweaty legs of his pistols. The stink of afterbirth would rent the air. He had decided, and so it shall be. He had Decided.

  The place would be empty on this lovely afternoon, deserted. He would walk the path he would soon take, and plant his little wired embellishments in the optimal positions he had already chosen, using a map of the school grounds. The wiring on the bombs had been trickier than he had expected, but even the small chance that he had wired them right was enough to make his chest feel light and his mouth water. No matter either way. The Quad would be plenty full at noontime tomorrow. Plenty full.

  Danny had a number in mind as the very least that he would certainly achieve. The number was fifty. But he shot straight, so his aspirations were much higher. Fifty would do. It would earn him the position of the worst school massacre, taking the spot above the Virginia
Tech shooting. Cho didn’t have shit on Danny. Danny was the man. Fifty was a low-ball.

  “High-Ho, High-Ho, off to the Quad I go,” he sang.

  He grabbed the black duffel bag that waited beneath his bed. Inside were his homemade explosives. Their weight slung over his shoulder was full and healthy. A wide jackal’s grin stretched across his face, and dark, merciless eyes sat coldly above it.

  While Danny was doing all this, Michael was packing up his little picnic basket for his romantic Quad-date with the strange raven-haired girl. Perhaps it was destiny after all.

  ***

  The huntsman was just passing the house, and thought to himself: “How the old woman is snoring! I must just see if she wants anything.” So he went to into the room, and when he came to the bed, he saw that the wolf was lying in it.

  “Do I find you here, you old sinner!” said he. “I have long sought you!” But just as he was going to fire at him, it occurred to him that the wolf might have devoured the grandmother, and that she might still be saved, so he did not fire, but took a pair of scissors, and began to cut open the stomach of the sleeping wolf.

  -Excerpt from Little Red Riding Hood by the Brothers Grimm

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Claire

  “Here little darlin’, don’t shed no tears,” sang Bob Marley from the speakers of Claire’s stereo.

  Claire had gotten up early this morning and decided that she needed to give her and Nikki’s apartment a good spring cleaning. She had made herself some instant pancakes, maple-flavored bacon, and cheesy eggs, along with a pot of strong coffee, and then had filled her grumbling belly. She felt good today, better than she could remember feeling in a long time. Nikki would get home tonight from her writer’s conference, and Claire would spill the rancid beans in her stomach and let her sister help her with her problems. Nikki would show her the way. All Claire had to do was let her.