Gray's Ghosts

by Carey Lewis

  “Now I got something for you,” Deacon said. His hand came out from behind his back with the pistol. He pushed Motley with his free hand, brought the gun up and fired into Motley’s chest. He fell back against the couch. Deacon fired again, the bullet splitting open his head.

  The one on the top couch yanked the gun from between the cushions and was met with three shots from Hector. The one on the bottom was wiping Motley’s brains out of his eyes. Deacon moved the gun and shot him through the hand to the head.

  Huey saw the smile on Deacon’s face. The look of exhilaration. He looked down the hallway to the kitchen, saw the guy with black eyes come up from the stairs. Huey pointed his gun and fired. The man fell back against the counter, a spray of blood left behind on the stove and microwave.

  “I forgot to put on my mask.”

  Cesar said, “I didn’t even shoot.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  BROOKE STARED AT HER FEET in the white sand as she walked. Watched the way her toes flicked the grains off, feeling the warmth of it on the bottom of her feet. For a brief moment in time, it was just her, alone in the world. There wasn’t another sound, nothing else but the breeze pushing the sarong against her body. She heard the waves coming to shore, the steady rhythm of the break.

  It was when a guy in his twenties jumped in front of her, crashing into the sand trying to catch a football, that’s when reality came crashing back on her.

  The guy stood up and apologized, holding the football under his arm and wearing a lopsided smile. Told her his name was Mike. Brooke said, “Good for you,” and resumed her walking.

  He was behind her saying he was from Ohio, asked where she was from.

  “I was over there.”

  It got a smile from Mike, catching up to her and cutting her off, stopping her again. “I play football there. Miami U. It’s in Ohio.”

  “What else is in Ohio Mike?”

  She watched the confusion on his face until he said, “I’m sorry?”

  “Tell you what, you win over my sister we can talk,” Brooke said, pointing to the line of blue beach chairs set up in the sand.

  Mike scanned the endless row of blue chairs, looking at all the people on them. “I got to win your sister over before I get to talk to you?” he asked, then looked back to Brooke.

  She nodded.

  “What happens if I like her better?”

  “I’m willing to take that chance.”

  “Which one is she?”

  “You have to guess.”

  She watched the smile grow on his face then watched him walk over to the line of sunbathers. He walked down the line, looking at each one, thinking it over in his head. Brooke took a few steps forward, slow to make her way back to Martina enjoying the sun.

  She looked at the hotels towering over the beach, saw the ferris wheel over there in the distance, the SkyWheel they called it. Got a thought of what it would be like up there with Deacon. Then she thought that was exactly why she needed the time away. A divorced couple that spends all their time together. She didn’t know who she was anymore, how she was supposed to find out being with the man she got lost in.

  She saw Mike sit in the chair beside a blond in her twenties, a good twenty yards away. He looked up and Brooke shook her head, went over to take her seat beside Martina. A minute later Mike came over.

  “I guessed wrong?”

  “It would seem so.”

  Martina shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand as she looked up at Mike. “Who’s this?”

  “This is Mike from Ohio. Ask him what else is there.”

  “What’s in Ohio Mike?” Martina asked.

  “I play football at Miami University. It’s in Ohio.”

  “That’s when I asked him what else was there.”

  “I just thought you might find it interesting that Miami U is in Ohio and not Miami.”

  “That’s what you thought I’d find interesting?”

  “What else you find interesting Mike?”

  Mike was searching for words.

  “Think he finds that blond down there interesting,” Brooke said. “I told him to go talk to my sister, that’s where he goes.”

  “She look like her sister?”

  “She looks interesting. Like someone Mike wants to get to know better.”

  “Then maybe Mike should go talk to her.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “So how about it Mike?” Martina said. “You think that blond number down there will find Miami University in Ohio interesting?”

  “Sure she will, once she finds out Mike plays football there.”

  “What position does Mike play?”

  “You’re not doubting he plays football at Miami U in Ohio, are you Marty? You don’t think he gets a buddy to throw him a football so he can talk to pretty girls?”

  “Seems like Mike might be the type to do exactly that.”

  “Maybe Mike could tell you what a trips formation is? Maybe the difference between a quarters defense and the nickel package.”

  “Oceans right there,” Mike said. “No need for you to be salty.”

  Martina and Brooke broke out laughing as he walked away.

  “You know all that shit if he had an answer for you?” Martina asked.

  “Deacon’s big on football. Got to watch nine hours of it on Sundays, three on Mondays and Thursdays.”

  “At the time bet you didn’t think you’d have a use for it.”

  “Past comes back to haunt you,” Brooke said as she dug into the beach bag between their chairs and took out a pre-made Bacardi cooler.

  “Might’ve done you some good you know.”

  “That’s what I mean. I’m divorced but feel like I’m still married.”

  “I keep telling Dave. Tell him these people got their own lives, got to let them live it. Can’t keep these two married on TV because you like the show.”

  “Still not going for it?”

  “He’s worried what’s going to happen when people find out.”

  “What’s going to happen they find out we’re playing marriage?”

  “Think Dave’s thinking he can keep it under control more than the other.”

  They were quiet, looking out at the waves, the people playing in the water, sunbathing, walking by.

  “You think it’s fair I’m putting my life on hold?”

  “Lot of what we do I don’t think is fair. You think it’s fair you tell these people their houses are haunted and you go buy them dirt cheap?”

  “It was you and Dave that told us you needed haunted houses.”

  “You and Deacon are the ones buying them.”

  “They’re selling them anyway. We tell them the house is haunted, they don’t want to live there anymore. We don’t buy them someone else does.”

  “We just said we wanted haunted houses. It’s you and Deke deciding which ones based on how much you can get flipping them.”

  They were quiet again. Brooke lit a cigarette. She said, “I don’t think a lot is fair.”

  “We can leave it at that.”

  “Think I might walk when the contract is up. Think that’s what I need.”

  Martina didn’t say anything. Brooke could sense the immediate wall between them.

  “That boy’s going to be lost without you.”

  “He’ll be fine. Everyone likes Deacon, he makes sure of that.”

  “But there’s just one he cares about loving.”

  DEACON FELT THE PRESSURE ON his chest, the little pinpricks stabbing his skin. He opened his eyes to see a blurry cat staring back at him, it’s claws kneading up and down. He tried to focus on the gray glob with the green slit eyes but that’s when the freight train decided to run through his brain.

  He moved to the side, the cat jumping from his chest to the floor, and threw up in the pail next to the bed. With watery eyes he looked over at the cat and knew it was judging him. He wiped his mouth on his wrist, watching the cat saunter over to the pail an
d start licking the edge. He decided the cat wasn’t in a position to judge.

  Deacon laid on his back, surprised the blankets under him were wet. He wasn’t able to do much of anything, hardly able to move, so he laid on his sweat-soaked sheets and stared at the stucco ceiling. He wished he could cross the room to close the curtain on the window.

  He flung his arm over his head to cover his eyes and the pressure was somehow comforting. Like it was holding in his brain which would bounce out of his skull at any moment. Even with his eyes closed he felt the room spinning. Saw flashes of neon moving frenetically in his mind’s eye.

  Then the goddamn cat jumped on his belly which started the cycle over again. He moved to the side and threw up in the bucket, watched the cat, swore it had a smirk on its face. It stared at him, meowed, licked its lips, this sadistic fuck of a cat.

  He laid on his back again, looked to the window, trying to decide if he could make it over there. The full glass of water on the nightstand caught his eye. He saw two Aspirin there as well. He summoned the strength and rolled to his side, popped the pills in his mouth and gulped the water, concentrating on keeping it down. The cat took gingerly steps toward the bed. It stopped when Deacon looked at it, sat down and meowed again.

  A roadhouse. He went to a roadhouse last night. After they finished shooting at the Millers - him, Huey, and Cesar. They went out for a drink. Christ, how many did he have? That’s right, he smoked a joint, wanting them to like him, show them he was cool. Then they went inside. That’s where it got foggy.

  Deacon swung his legs off the bed and planted them on the floor. His brain bounced inside his skull so he put his head in his hands and waited for it to settle. Now the cat was walking between his legs, rubbing up against his ankles, leaving it’s fur behind. He looked over at the rocking chair in the corner and saw a black T-shirt and jeans. He thought about how nice drunk Deacon was last night to do all this stuff for hungover Deacon in the morning.

  His eyes moved across the room, wondering what else drunk Deacon got up to. He looked at the ornaments, the figurines of old plump ladies churning butter, the family flying a kite, the old lady with the boy across her lap, smacking his ass with a rolling pin. The musical boxes on the shelves, the stuffed animals, the cat up there he couldn’t decide was real or not. This room was starting to scare the shit out of him.

  He decided he needed to get dressed. He’d figure out what happened last night later, only able to concentrate on one thing at a time.

  It took him a half hour, a lot of breaks, and an inordinate amount of sweating, but he was dressed and coming down the stairs, each step creaking under him. He rounded through the sitting area, old books and furniture in the dusty room, a computer from the 90’s over in the corner. Got to the kitchen where he saw Ma Bell at the counter, her gray hair done up in a bun, rolling some flour on the counter. It was a big kitchen with great natural light, something Dominic pointed out when he was here, but Deacon didn’t care for it right now. He wondered if he could squint his eyes harder.

  He took a seat at the large table and without a word, Ma Bell was beside him, putting a mug of coffee down. He thanked her and she offered a smile, scurrying over to the stove where she took out a plate and brought it over, full of sausages, bacon, scrambled eggs and home fries. She then put the back of her hand to his forehead, said, “I’ve seen worse. You took the Aspirin?”

  Deacon looked up at her. It was Ma Bell that took care of him last night, not drunk Deacon. Drunk Deacon was still a dick. Then he remembered what he woke up in - nothing but his boxer briefs. Like Ma Bell was reading his mind, she said, “I’ve got four children, about to be six grandchildren. You’re nothing special,” and she smiled. “You need the grease,” she said, her eyes moving to the plate in front of him.

  He took a strip of bacon between his fingers, took a bite and held it in his mouth, getting the strength to push it down his throat. “How bad was it?”

  “You want to know?” she asked, then crossed the room to the counter and started forming the dough. “You weren’t good.”

  Deacon swallowed and waited for the food to come back up. It didn’t.

  “That one, Huey? I knew him since he was a pup. Good kid got mixed with the wrong crowd. Started with those Mexicans. I ain’t got a problem with Mexicans, just them two Mexicans. Poor boy was born between ages. Too old for the younger ones, too young for my boys.”

  Mexicans? Plural? That’s right, Cesar brought a friend. They all went out and smoked another joint. Now he remembered flashes. Headlights on a road. Cesar smiling at him from the front seat, showing that gold tooth of his. He told him about weed. Something else. A story.

  “Is anyone else still here?” he asked.

  “Just you. The one that don’t like my cats left you a car. Said you could leave it at the airport when you’re ready. Said she’d call you in a bit.”

  “Like today?”

  “Impression I got was she’d call you when she was ready for something. Like she’d be the one telling you about what was going on.”

  Ma Bell came over with a cookie tray full of pastries. She put a mat down on the table, then the tray on top of that.

  “I threw out the clothes you was wearing last night. Figured you didn’t want them back.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want to know what you got up to last night. State you was in? With those Mexicans? No good can come from it.”

  “I’d like to know. What was wrong with my clothes? I throw up on them?”

  She looked at him, taking a moment, deciding if she wanted to say more.

  “They was covered in blood and dirt. Not yours neither, I checked. Why you woke up in your skivvies.”

  “BUT I DON’T THINK IT was a movie,” he said over the phone.

  “You said you didn’t remember anything until Ma Bell told you,” Brooke said. “You sure your mind isn’t making shit up to fill in the blanks?” Brooke asked.

  She was sitting in her hotel room, just out of the shower, about to change for dinner with Martina before she flew out the next morning. Martina promised to show her the single life. “Get enough drinks in me, maybe I’ll try to bring you over to my side,” Marty said with a wink when they separated.

  Deacon had been calling her all afternoon. She kept ignoring it. “He calls you that much his battery’s going to die you can get a break while he charges it,” Martina said.

  When Brooke was in the shower, she could still hear it ringing from the other room. She wondered if Deacon brought another battery with him. She wanted some time away but decided that was no reason to treat him poorly. Besides, he’d only keep calling, so she answered it.

  “I think I killed some people,” he said over the phone.

  Then he told her the story. He went with Huey and Cesar to a roadhouse, smoked a joint, had a beer. “I swear I only had the one,” he said. She asked why they ordered two pitchers if he only had the one glass. Who leaves a full pitcher behind?

  Deacon told her about them wanting him to be in their movie, some gang pissed at a gang of skinheads for keeping them down, go and getting their revenge. Told her they were filming with cameras in the walls. He told her about killing those guys, remembered thinking the effects looked great, wanting to see how it looked on camera. No one yelled cut, they kept going when Deacon thought the scene would be over. He remembered looking at the guys he shot, remembered he thought they were really committed because they still weren’t moving.

  “I was wondering how they were holding their breath that long. How they were keeping their eyes open,” he told her.

  “Then what happened?”

  “I was looking at them thinking all that. Then I thought ‘How’d they know I was going to shoot them in the head?’ You know, to hook up the squibs there. I didn’t even know I was going to do that. I just pointed and fired.”

  “And their heads exploded?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You see the squibs? Any wires or anything?�
��

  “No but I thought at the time they exploded, what would be left behind?”

  “Did he say anything? Cesar?”

  “Said it was a great scene but they’re still shooting. That’s why I don’t remember thinking those things because we got brought out back of the house into the woods.”

  “Jesus Deke.”

  “They said they were still shooting.”

  “You didn’t think they were bringing you out there to kill you?”

  “No, they didn’t say that was part of the scene. My character gets killed later for shooting up the place. I was confused too until Cesar said we were digging up their plants.”

  “You dug out plants?”

  “Weed, yeah. Put them in garbage bags. It made sense.”

  “Because he said you guys were robbing them.”

  “Yeah.”

  Brooke was quiet, sitting on the edge of the bed wrapped in a towel. Trying to absorb the story Deacon told her.

  “Brooke?”

  “I’m thinking,” she said. “Was Huey there?”

  “Yeah, he shot someone too.”

  “You think Huey has that in him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You think Huey’s going to shoot someone? Go into a skinhead’s house and kill people?

  Deacon was silent on the other end of the line. Eventually he said, “I don’t know.”

  “You call Huey?”

  “He’s not answering.”

  “You said they got you high?”

  “Yeah. I thought I was fine.”

  “It probably was a movie Deke. You just got high and confused, thought it was real.”

  “You think so?”

  “Huey was there and I don’t think he’s the killing type. You said he shot someone, doesn’t sound like something he could do.”

  “You think so?”

  What else could she say? “I think it was a movie Deke. You just got confused.”

  “I’m freaking out Brooke,” he said. She could hear his voice crack on the line. Could hear him barely keeping it together.

  “Marty left you the SUV. Go to the airport and go home. Get away from it.”

  “I forgot to put on my mask.”