by E. C. Bell
Then I could talk to Joey, and he’d tell me everything he knew. I hoped.
I also hoped he wasn’t going to be too frightened to speak to me. If I remembered correctly, he hadn’t been that impressed at our first meeting. In fact, he’d been scared out of his dead little wits.
I decided I’d figure that out when I found the truck.
I thought I’d lose my mind when I couldn’t remember either where the salvage yard was or what towing company had hauled Joey’s truck away. I shut off the Volvo and headed into the 7-11, hoping against hope that there was only one towing company in town, and that they only had one place where they took all the wrecks.
MY LUCK RAN true to form. The 7-11 clerk said there were at least eight towing companies in Fort McMurray, and he wasn’t sure which one the cops used. I sighed heavily, and began calling.
I finally found the company that had dealt with Joey’s truck, and even found out where their salvage yard was. Ran into just a little bit of trouble when the receptionist told me that one, the salvage yard was closed, and two, I would under no circumstances be allowed into that yard without Joey Simpson. I gently reminded the woman that the kid was dead, and she said, without missing a beat, that I’d still need to get his okay. I asked, without much hope, for the name of the kid’s insurance company. The woman, evidently at the end of her rope with me, said that she would not divulge that information without the express written consent of Joey Simpson.
Before I lost my mind on the woman, I disconnected. Then I bought myself a Slurpee, to calm myself down as I tried to work out how the heck I was going to get into that salvage yard.
“Talk to Lucky,” the kid behind the counter said. “For a small fee, he’ll get you in anywhere.”
I blinked and looked around to see if I was being set up for the Fort McMurray version of the TV show, COPS. Saw nothing but the bland, pocked face of the kid.
“You want his number?” the kid finally asked.
“Sure,” I said.
He rattled it off, and then turned to the cash register to punch in my purchase.
So I called somebody named Lucky and set up a meet, just outside the fence of the salvage yard on MacKenzie.
“Thanks,” I said to the kid, as I handed him the very last of my change and cursed myself for not grabbing any more of the money James had given to me, which I’d hidden in the bottom of the plastic bag that I’d used as a suitcase.
“No prob,” he replied, and grinned. “The guy owe you money?”
“Who?”
“The guy who owns the truck.”
“Uh, no. It’s nothing like that.”
The kid shrugged. “Whatever,” he said. “Lucky’ll get you in. Guaranteed.”
Knowing my track record, I doubted it very much, but thanked the kid and walked to the Volvo. Checked my cell once more for a text from James. Still nothing, so I decided I had enough time to find the dead kid and get some answers.
THE FENCE SURROUNDING the salvage yard looked at least ten feet tall, and the barbed wire rolls strung along the top gave it the look of a maximum security prison, and not just a place where trucks and cars went after they died.
I stood by the Volvo, cringing at every snap and pop I heard in the dark. I thought I heard a growl and wondered if Fort McMurray had problems with bears wandering into town. Or mountain lions, or whatever. I couldn’t remember wild animals wandering through town being a problem when I lived here, but when I lived here I didn’t make a habit of hanging around in the industrial areas of town in the dark.
The whatever-it-was growled again, and the sound wound up and down my spine like an icicle shower.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, and reached for the door handle. “That Lucky guy isn’t showing up. I’ll come back tomorrow and—”
“Who the hell is that?” an old man’s voice cackled over the soft growl and nearly made me jump out of my skin. I redoubled my efforts on the door, belatedly remembering I’d locked it.
“Answer me!” The old man’s voice took on that peculiar tone that only the truly old can effect, to the point that I was pretty sure the next words out of his mouth were going to be, “Get off my lawn!”
“Yer scaring my dog!” he yelled. “Answer me right now!”
Oh wow. An old guy with a big—from the sound of the growl, really big—dog that he probably couldn’t control.
“I’m leaving,” I said as I frantically worked the lock with one of the keys. Realized belatedly I was trying to open the Volvo with the key to James’s office in Edmonton, and felt like crying. “Please, please control your dog.”
The growling stopped immediately, and I nearly wet myself. The old man hadn’t answered me. What if the dog—and in my head it was a pit bull the size of a bull moose—was preparing to attack?
“Please!” I squealed. “Please keep your dog away from me!”
“What— What?” The old man’s voice sounded puzzled. “Yer not afraid of dogs, are ya?”
Just pit bulls the size of a bull moose, I thought. Out loud, I said, “I don’t want to be mauled.”
“Oh.” I heard shuffling and a metallic squeak, and wished with all my heart that the old man would come out into the weak light of the streetlight. I’d parked under it for that very reason, not realizing until I was out of the car—locked out of the car, why couldn’t I get the stupid key to work?—that all it did was radiate a weak yellow pool at this spot only. There was another streetlight at the end of the long block, but its light didn’t come close to touching the pool of yellow I was bathed in.
“Lucky won’t maul you,” the old man said. “He’s not that tough.”
Lucky. Wasn’t that the name of the guy who was going to help me get into the salvage yard? “Lucky?”
“Yep.” The squeak and growl started again, coming toward me. This time I kept my cool, because I finally realized there was something decidedly metallic about the growl. Like the guy was pushing—
The nose of the shopping cart trundled into view, followed by an old man, dressed in rags. I didn’t see a dog anywhere.
“Lucky?” I asked. “Are you Lucky?”
“Luckier than most,” the old man said, and laughed, sounding like his throat was choked with phlegm. “Are you Mary?”
“Marie,” I replied. My heart slowed, and I blew out a shaky breath. “Where’s your dog?”
“You mean Lucky?” the old man asked. “He’s in the cart.”
I looked closer and saw the tiny bundle of fur standing in the old man’s belongings in the cart, vibrating.
“Is he okay?”
“You scared him,” the old man said. “With yer carrying on.”
“Sorry,” I muttered. “Is his name really Lucky?”
“Yep,” the old man said. “He was lucky to find me, and I was lucky to find him. So—”
“You’re both Lucky,” I finished for him. “Nice.”
The old man nodded, and then brought the shopping cart to a shuddering stop beside me. “So, you want to get into the salvage yard.”
“Yes, I do,” I said.
“It’s gonna cost you,” Lucky said. Lucky the dog barked his agreement, and I sighed.
Of course it would cost me. Of course.
I WAS AS lucky as Lucky. All the old man wanted was the rest of my Slurpee, plus a Timbit I found under the passenger seat of the Volvo, for his dog.
The Timbit was plain, and Lucky the dog took it in his tiny jaws and edged away from me, growling softly like he was afraid I was going to take the gift back.
“Don’t pay him no mind,” the old man said as he worked the straw through the half-cup of Slurpee in the bottom of the to-go cup. “He don’t trust people, generally.”
“I understand,” I said. “Are you going to get me in there?” I pointed at the Slurpee and the small dog still snacking on the Timbit. “Since I paid you and everything.”
“Yep,” the old man said. “Follow me.”
He scraped and shimmied t
he cart around until it was pointing the way it had come. “This way,” he said, breathing hard like that bit of effort had exhausted him.
“Are you all right?” I asked, without thinking.
“I bin better,” he said. “But what can you do?”
Go to the doctor, I thought, but kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t about to give this man—who was going to help me break into a place for the price of a half a Slurpee—advice. I was going to follow him silently.
So, of course, I didn’t.
“You might have pneumonia,” I said. “Or something. Maybe go to a doctor. You know. To get checked out.”
“I can’t leave Lucky alone that long,” the old man replied. “Maybe if I can find someone to babysit him while I go—”
His request hung in the air, and I felt like slugging myself, really hard.
“I’ll look after him,” I said, reluctantly. “After I finish in the salvage yard. If you want.”
“That’s kind of you,” the old man said, and favoured me with a truly sweet smile. “I just might take you up on that, if you don’t take too long in there. After all, I have my rounds.”
“Of course,” I said. “Your rounds.”
I had no idea what he meant by that, and he didn’t explain. In fact, we both walked in a silence only marred by the squeak and growl of the arthritic wheels of his cart.
We went around the corner and into pitch dark. Not even the weak moonlight helped, and I nearly ran into him when he stopped.
“It’s right here,” he said. I was pretty sure he pointed, but I couldn’t make out in what direction.
“Where?”
“Right there.” His old man voice took on the “get off my lawn” vibe again. “What are ya, blind?”
Then, finally, my eyesight adjusted, and I saw where he was pointing. A tree grew next to the tall metal fence, and a couple of branches appeared to go over the barbed wire at the top.
“You don’t expect me to climb that thing, do you?” I asked.
Lucky turned and stared at me as though I’d grown a second head. “Of course not,” he said. “The fence is loose behind the tree. You can get in through there.”
“Oh.” I looked again, harder this time, and thought I could make out a break in the fence. It looked really small. “Oh, thanks.”
I wasn’t going to be able to make it through that teeny little hole in the fence. I was sure of it. However, Lucky appeared to think I could.
“Go ahead, girl,” he said. “Time’s a-wasting. I got my rounds.”
“Right,” I said, and walked up to the tree. Around it to the hole in the fence, which was actually a spot where the edges of the corrugated metal of the fence met—or, in this case, didn’t quite meet. This left me a nice little slot which I could slip through. If I was strong enough to pull the two pieces of metal apart, that was.
I was, and I quickly slipped through the hole in the fence, and headed into the salvage yard proper.
“Thank you!” I called over the fence. But Lucky didn’t answer me, and I had the feeling he was already on his rounds, whatever they were.
I assumed that the wrecks where I’d broken through the fence—piled three high with only space enough for me to edge through sideways—were the oldest ones in the salvage yard. I could see a light to the right of me, possibly at the centre of the yard, and used it to guide myself out of the stack.
I had to find the newest wrecks in the yard, and hoped that the light was by the office, and that the newest wrecks were near there too.
In a few minutes, I skittered up to the light, and looked around. I was right, the light was above the trailer that was used for the office. But I couldn’t tell where the newest wrecks had been taken. They all looked the same to me.
“Joey Simpson,” I called. Well, to be honest, I kind of whispered it, because I didn’t want anyone else to hear me. I hadn’t asked Lucky whether there was a guard, and really wished I had. “Joey! Are you here?”
At first I heard nothing. Then I heard snuffling and belatedly realized that somewhere in here could be a dog. A junkyard dog, and weren’t they supposed to be the craziest and meanest dogs on the planet?
I scrambled to the top of the closest three car pile to hide, but the snuffling noise didn’t come any closer. In fact, the more I listened to it, the more it sounded like a kid crying, not a ferocious junkyard dog growling.
“Joey Simpson?” I called again, from my hiding place on top of a mashed-flat Matrix. “Is that you?”
The snuffling stopped, but I thought I saw a weak flare of light down the row of wrecks to the right. I scrambled off the Matrix and slipped between the wrecks, toward the light.
“Joey Simpson,” I called. “Answer if you can hear me.”
“I—I can hear you.” I was certain I was hearing Joey’s voice, from the direction of the light, which had become brighter. “How did you know I was here?”
“I saw you on the highway,” I gasped, pushing past wreck after wreck, and hoping I didn’t find anyone else dead before I got to Joey. “Remember? You got into my car.”
“Oh.” There was silence for a moment, and when I finally made it around the last pile of wrecks and found Joey’s truck, his light had dimmed appreciably.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “You’re not still scared of me, are you?”
“I—I dunno.” The kid’s voice floated out from inside the crushed cab. It was covered in dried mud and weeds from the rollover. “You seemed crazy to me.”
“Well, I’m not,” I said. I walked up to the cab and glanced in through the demolished front windshield. “I can see ghosts, is all.”
He looked quite pathetic, all scrunched into the destroyed cab of his truck.
“Why don’t you come out here and talk to me?” I said. “Please?”
Before the words were out of my mouth, he was standing beside me. His glow had returned, and I could easily see through his form. Wouldn’t be long and he’d be moving on, I was sure of it.
“Nice to see you again,” he said, and smiled at me. It was kind of endearing. “Sorry I was such a dick. You know, before.”
In spite of the accident, he was a sweet-looking kid. Kid being the operative word. I guessed that working in McMurray was probably his first job out of high school.
“It’s all right,” I said. “You’re not the only ghost who treated me like that.” I smiled at him. “How long were you in town? You know—before?”
“Six months,” he said. “I just bought the truck.” He sighed, and I felt gooseflesh raise on my arms. “I think maybe I shoulda stayed home. You know. Like my mom wanted.”
“Maybe,” I said. I didn’t tell him that this was no longer his concern, or any of that other “moving on to the next plane of existence” claptrap. He knew. I could tell he knew. “But I know why you came.”
It was for the money. That was the only reason most of these boys rolled into town. The huge paycheques. Mostly, they pissed away the money they made. But sometimes—
“I wanted to pay off my parents’ mortgage,” he said. “Dad got laid off last year, and it’s been tough. They were afraid they were going to lose their place. So, I came here to help out.”
Oh.
“All I bought for myself was the truck,” he said. “The rest of the money went to them.”
“You’re a good son,” I said. “They probably appreciated it.”
He snorted. “I think they’d rather have me alive,” he said.
I didn’t answer that. No reason to. He was absolutely right.
“Can you tell me something?” I asked, after a long, quiet moment. “About the last night of—”
“You mean about the night I died?” he asked.
I nodded.
“What about it?”
“You were at the Blue Ox Inn,” I said. “Right?”
“Right.” He frowned. “I wasn’t even drinking, you know. I had to work the next day . . .”
“That’s not why I was askin
g,” I said quickly. “I heard that you talked to a guy in the bar that night. Arnie Stillwell. You remember?”
The kid stared at me for a long, cold moment. “Why do you want to know?” he finally asked.
“Because—Because he died,” I said, “And I’m trying to figure out what happened.”
“How did he die?”
“He was killed.”
The kid was silent a moment more. “Doesn’t surprise me. He was a dick,” he finally said. “Seriously. The way he treated his girlfriend—”
“Girlfriend?” I asked. “Did you see his girlfriend at the Inn that night?”
“Well, I assumed the girl that picked him up was his girlfriend,” he said. “He left the bar a couple of minutes after I did. I was sitting in my truck, just about ready to head out, when he staggered out into the parking lot. Walked up to a blue Sunfire and started yelling. Hammered the top of it so hard I suspect he left damage, until whoever was inside opened the door for him.” He snorted. “Like he couldn’t open the car door himself.”
“Did you get a look at the person driving?” I asked.
“It was pretty dark,” he said. “But I saw she had long dark hair, and I think she was crying. Then they drove off, him still yelling so loud at her that I could hear him over my music.”
“What was he yelling?” I asked.
“Why she would never be as good as Marie,” the kid said, and shrugged. “Whoever Marie is. That ass sure had a crush on her. Looks like she was smart enough to get away from him. Not so much, the one who picked him up.” He looked at me questioningly. “Why do you figure women hang around with jerks like that?” he asked. “Seems to me she’d have to have a screw loose to take that kind of crap from a guy.”
“Yeah,” I said. Truer words, and all that.
Rosalie had long, brownish hair. I didn’t know what kind of car she drove, but I was willing to bet large amounts of money that it would be a Sunfire. Blue. With dints in the roof, where an asshole hammered on it with his fists, because she wasn’t Marie.
Because she wasn’t me.
God.
“Thank you, Joey,” I said. “You helped, a lot.”
