Dreams The Ragman

by Gifune, Greg F.

  “Why do we stay? Think about it.” I sat down next to him. “Neither one of us has a future here. Let’s just get in the car and go. We drive far as we can get.”

  “And then?”

  “We get jobs, find a place to live, get on with our lives like other people do.”

  Clearly struggling to suppress a smile he said, “Are you proposing to me?”

  “Fuck you, you idiot,” I laughed.

  “It’s a nice dream,” he said softly, “but that’s all it is, Derrick. We’re still technically minors. We wouldn’t get far before they’d bring us back, and then imagine how terrible things would be.”

  “I’ll do it. If you will, I’ll do it, right now, today.”

  He stared at me a while. “You really mean it, don’t you?”

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here, man. Let’s just go.”

  In a few short weeks, the first murders would take place and everything would change forever. But in those few final days of innocence, anything seemed possible. We were still young, still kids, still capable of anything.

  To this day I couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened, how differently our lives might’ve played out had he agreed to my ridiculous plan.

  “We’ll be fine,” he’d assured me that day. “You’ll see.”

  Within days his nightmares began.

  I’ve been dreaming about your grandfather.

  Rain sprayed my face, bringing me back to Sheppard Beach. Soaked and cold, I turned away from the forest and started back toward the strip.

  By the time I’d reached the band shell, I saw a police cruiser waiting on me.

  * * * *

  Parked at the end of the strip, it sat there in all its intimidating glory, windshield wipers flailing back and forth in the rain, the interior of the car obscured.

  I left the beach, moved onto the strip and headed back toward the bar. Just as I knew it would, the cruiser slowly backed up then crawled along after me. I walked right down the middle of the drag at a normal pace, the car a dozen or so yards behind me, engine rumbling above the wind and hissing rain and bearing down like the predator it was. I hadn’t been hassled by cops in years, but rather than turn around and look behind me questioningly, as I knew the driver wanted me to do, I walked on as if I didn’t know he was there. Spiffy’s place was closed and locked down tight, and the lights that had been on just moments before in the few establishments still open had all been extinguished. I kept moving until I’d reached the bar.

  Once inside I shook the rain from my coat and looked over at Maggie, who was positioned behind the bar watching another soap opera. With her chin, she subtly motioned to the window behind me and said, “Got five-o on your ass, hoss.”

  I took a seat, ordered a shot of vodka. “Been on me all the way down the strip.”

  She poured my shot and pushed it over to me. “With the shit going on around here lately, I’m surprised it took this long.”

  I threw the shot back, felt it burn all the way down. “Who am I dealing with?”

  “My guess would be the chief of police.” Maggie lit a cigarette, threw her bottom lip out and blew a stream of smoke straight up in the air. “Real dick.”

  “Hit me again.” She did, and I threw it back faster than the first.

  I crossed the bar and headed up stairs. I’d just unlocked my room door when I heard someone come in downstairs, bringing a rush of storm along with them. I heard voices but couldn’t make out what they were saying, so I quietly slipped into my room and closed the door behind me. Heart racing, I removed my coat, tossed it onto the chair in the corner then sat on the bed and waited.

  Seconds later the stairs creaked as someone approached. Footfalls echoed along the hallway and came to rest just outside my room. The sparse light under the bottom of the door shifted. I smelled a sudden pungent odor. A cigar?

  My head was still reeling and full of the past, the sausage sandwich was sitting in the pit of my stomach like a recently-fired cannonball, and I was cold, wet and already tired of this sonofabitch and hadn’t even met him yet.

  Three hard knocks rattled the door.

  “Come in,” I said evenly.

  A second round of knocks followed; these even harder than the first.

  I strode to the door, and with a deep breath, pulled it open.

  A squat, silver-haired man with eerily ice-blue eyes stood before me in an immaculate, regalia-heavy police uniform and black service shoes polished to a neurotic shine, his hat in his hands and a lit cigar stub stuffed between his lips. Behind him, a much younger officer remained by the top of the stairs, one hand resting on his holstered weapon. He flashed me a tough-guy sneer I guessed was supposed to be intimidating and probably had been when he’d practiced it in the mirror at home, but out in the real world where he’d just started shaving it was more comical than anything.

  “Can I help you?” I asked the older cop.

  “Gee, I sure hope so.” He grinned without showing teeth. “Like to have a little chat-ski with you,” he said, each word obnoxiously over-enunciated. “Think that’d be OK with you?”

  “Is there a problem, officer?”

  “Chief,” he corrected me. “Chief Ben Gleck.”

  Clearly he was the type who got off on power and wearing a uniform. It made him special, you see—official—someone of profound importance, exactly the sort of individual who brought out the absolute worst in me. “OK, Chief Ben Gleck,” I said, “what’s this all about?”

  “According to the Virgin Mary downstairs your name is Derrick Ricci.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Well how’s aboot we see some ID just to be on the safe side, Mr. Ricci?”

  I pulled my wallet from my back pocket, slid out my license and handed it to him. Without breaking eye contact, Gleck held it out for the other officer, who immediately began running it, mumbling into a handheld unit strapped to his shoulder.

  Gleck and I stood staring at each other, neither saying a word.

  A few moments later, the young cop returned my license then told his boss, “Employed by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, Department of Social Services. He’s clean, no warrants. Two priors for assault but both were several years ago.”

  “Assault,” Gleck said, feigning a shiver. “Ooo, I’m a-scared. Got a temper, huh?”

  “Look, is there some point to this? What is it I can do for you?”

  “Well, you can start by adjusting that attitude, Mr. Ricci, how’s that sound?”

  “Sounds like bullshit. I’m a law-abiding citizen and I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Didn’t say you did, did I?”

  “If you need to talk to me about something then go ahead. Otherwise, I have things to do.”

  “Really, like what?”

  I stood my ground, saying nothing for several seconds and instead employing some of the techniques my psychologist had taught me to keep my anger in check.

  “Oh don’t be shy. What brings you to our enchanting little hamlet?”

  “I’m here for personal reasons.”

  “And what kind of personal reasons would those be?”

  “The kind that are personal.”

  He chomped his cigar, causing thick smoke to billow about between us. “Maybe you didn’t hear about the trouble we’ve had here lately.”

  “I read about the murders in the paper, saw the news reports on TV.”

  “Two brutal homicides, that’s what we’re dealing with here, Mr. Ricci. So I bet you’ll find it in your heart—golly, I just know you will—to forgive me for paying special extra attention to strangers wandering around town these days.”

  I responded with a subtle nod. Rain sprayed the lone window behind me, and I pictured The Ragman tapping the glass, floating just beyond the pane, eyes glaring through the rain, dead lips curled into a toothless, bloody grin. “I understand your concern, and I appreciate your attempt to do your job, but I certainly hope you’re not suggesting I know anything abo
ut this.”

  “Well of course not, fine upstanding citizen like yourself. But you wouldn’t mind humoring me and sharing your whereabouts on—”

  “I haven’t even been in the state until today,” I said. “And yes, I can account for my whereabouts over the last several weeks, and yes, I can put you in touch with several people who can verify that, including my wife and people I work with and for. Regardless, I don’t plan to stand here and be harassed, and—”

  “Harrassed? That’s a strong word, Mr. Ricci.”

  “Let me make this clear. I’m not about to be questioned regarding homicides or any other crime without legal representation, so if that’s where this is headed, then I suggest you take me in and I’ll call my attorney and we can get on with wasting everyone’s time.”

  Gleck put on a pretend frown, glanced back at the other officer and sighed. “Guess he told me, huh?”

  “I’m not trying to be confrontational, Chief, but—”

  “See normally,” he said, “I don’t really spend a whole lot of time worrying about what goes on down here on the strip. Decent people live in the town proper, not this dump. The way most folks in town see it, this area’s like a big ole nasty boil on our ass we just can’t seem to lance. The strip’s been dying for years but it keeps hanging on, keeps dragging us down. Soon enough, though, we’ll get the votes we need and then we can tear down this whole trough of swill and have some nice beaches for good, moral, God-fearing families instead of the degenerates it brings in now. This is our town and we plan to take it back, understand? And the first step is solving these murders before the maniac responsible commits another one and the federal boys show up and start trying to run things in our town. Last thing we need is a bunch of socialist government agents around here bothering people.”

  “When did we become a socialist government?”

  “Soon as that Muslim stole the presidency, haven’t you been paying attention?”

  And I’d thought he couldn’t possibly be more repugnant. “Are we through here?”

  Gleck pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and held it up to me. “Know what this is? It’s the Constitution. Of the United States. Of America. I carry it with me at all times so I’m always reminded that I live in the best damn country on the planet. I carry it so I always know what I’m sworn to defend and protect.”

  “Have you ever actually read it?”

  He blanched, as if I’d mortally wounded him.

  “Chief, much as I’d love to stand around and talk politics with you, I—”

  “Try to see this from my side.” He returned his paper to his pocket and very subtly moved a little closer to me. “A stranger comes to town and goes right for the beach. Nothing unusual in that except for there’s a storm going. Then this stranger, he doesn’t just walk the beach, he searches it like he’s looking for something, or someone. Now why not be a pal and tell me who you came looking for?”

  Something told me he already knew. “I’m in town to meet an old friend.”

  “And who’d that be?”

  “His name’s Caleb LeClerc.”

  “Funny name. Doesn’t even sound American, does it.”

  “What do American names sound like?” He did his best to intimidate me with his steely eyes but all I felt was repulsed. “Caleb’s a biblical name, a Hebrew name. In the Bible, Caleb was a friend to Moses, famous for his faith and devotion to God, and for his bravery even when faced with the most horrible and hopeless circumstances.”

  “So it’s a Jew name? Well, that figures.”

  “You know Jesus was a Jew, right?”

  “Jesus was a Christian.” Gleck shook his head and chuckled. “And besides, the good Lord’s got nothing to do with a piece of garbage like Caleb LeClerc.”

  My pulse quickened. “What are you saying?”

  “Funny thing, turns out I know your buddy Caleb too. He came to town right around the same time the murders started. Homeless drug-addict queer fit right in down here on the strip with the rest of the freak show. We picked him up a while back. I know a junkie when I see one. He didn’t have narcotics on him at the time, but we found paraphernalia. And besides, thought maybe he’d know something or even had something to do with the murders. Why wouldn’t I, right? Turns out he didn’t, I’m sure of that now.” He chuckled again and this time looked back at his young partner, who laughed as well. “Trust me, if he knew anything he would’ve told us during, uh, well let’s just go ahead and call it questioning. But he did tell us he was sure a friend of his would be showing up sooner or later.” Gleck turned back to me. “Fella named Derrick Ricci.”

  “Are you still holding him?” I cleared my throat and nodded. “Where is he now?”

  Rather than answer my question he said, “Makes sense, you’re one of those bleeding-heart liberal social worker types out to save the world. You come to deliver your old friend from evil, is that it?”

  Stupid shit wasn’t that far off. “If you already knew then what’s the point of this?”

  “Don’t have doubts about the faggot anymore,” he said. “But I had to be just as sure about you, now didn’t I.”

  “Where’s Caleb?” I asked again.

  “Got him in a cell over in town,” Gleck said squarely. “I’ll release him in the morning. I suggest you come on down and pick his scurvy ass up first thing. Let’s say eight o’clock. Then I want the two of you to go back to New York or Massachusetts or wherever the hell else it is you come from and stay there. Keep out of my town, or I’ll find a reason to arrest you both. And trust me, friend, I will find one. And that’s if you’re lucky. If not, and you catch me in a bad mood, getting arrested will be the least of your problems, that clear enough? Or do you want to get hold of your attorney for that too?”

  What I really wanted to do was punch his face out through the back of his fucking head, but I left my hands at my side. “What charges are you holding him on?”

  “A little known codicil in the town’s bylaws called whatever the fuck I want.”

  “Constitution my ass, huh?”

  A spasm of a smile quivered along his upper lip. “Careful.”

  “Look, instead of this pissing contest, why don’t I go get Caleb right now and—”

  “Be there bright and early first thing in the morning and he’s all yours, sunshine. For now I suggest you hunker down for the evening and stay inside. It’s not safe out there these days, especially after dark.”

  He had no idea.

  SIX

  The wind…

  I remembered it blowing in off the Atlantic, hot and thick and dragging the coming storm behind it. I remembered the smells of sea and sand, perspiration and night, the grip of fear and anticipation, the unknown. But the sounds of that night so many years ago, I remembered them best of all. The wind rushing in over the dark ocean, crossing the sand, crawling up along the dunes and through the trees, hissing like a snake as I ran directly into it, its touch searing, its embrace enveloping and devouring me.

  Despite my growing nausea and weakness, I did my best to keep up with Caleb. As we left, the paths cut through the dunes and ran down onto the open beach, he was still a good distance ahead of me but plainly visible in the moonlight. I focused on his long and powerful strides, hoping they might inspire me to press on through thick sand.

  Somewhere far from the parking lot, far from stretches of beach more heavily traveled, the sand took me, pulling me down into it as if something hidden beneath had tripped me, cut me off at the ankles. As I fell, I thought about how I’d lived in town all my life but had never been this far down-shore to this lonely section of forgotten beach.

  I watched the ground rush closer then crashed into it face-first. Sinking deeper upon impact, tiny grains of sand exploded up all around me, spraying about like a rain of brown sugar. In those strange and fearful seconds, I could hear and feel my heart thudding in my chest, the sound drowning out the steady slap of nearby waves.

  Rolling over ont
o my back, I spit sand from my mouth and focused on the canopy of darkness overhead. Heart still racing, stomach roiling and head pounding, I ran a hand across my forehead, pushed my hair from my eyes and tried to get up. But I was too drunk, too high, too exhausted, and instead, lay there like some crippled aquatic creature helplessly washed ashore and left for dead.

  And then, Caleb, his face moving into view, staring down at me…

  I know where he goes.

  I wanted him to ask me if I was all right, but he didn’t. He just kept staring at me as if he’d stumbled across some rare and exciting discovery he hadn’t quite figured out what to do with yet.

  I know where The Ragman hides.

  Rain spraying and beaded against the window brought me back to my little room.

  Night had fallen and I was alone. But Caleb was close, collapsed in some filthy jail cell, beaten and battered and waiting for me to come and set him free. I could spring him from the literal bars holding him, but we both knew the Devil was staring us down, and there could be no real freedom from any of this until we forced ourselves to look back. But even looking the Devil dead in the eye wouldn’t be enough. We’d have to kill the sonofabitch. There could be no deliverance without death, no transcendence without blood. And this time, it was The Ragman’s turn to bleed.

  I sat and listened to the rain a while, thinking back to the last time I’d been away from home and stuck in a strange place. The night Jill and I split, I’d left the house with only a small duffel bag, unsure of what to do or where to go. For more than twenty years we’d lived together as husband and wife. I’d been her best friend, and she’d been mine. I didn’t know how to do anything else, didn’t know how to be anyone else. After sitting at a rest area for a while and doing my best to comprehend what was happening, I ended up at a motel a few towns away, sitting in an uncomfortable chair at a rickety desk. I sat in that chair all night. When morning came, I continued to sit there, the dark circles under my eyes growing deeper and the chatter in my head refusing to quit. I hadn’t cried in a long time, but I cried that night, cried like a child for hours on end. Days later, when my head had cleared somewhat, I realized I’d checked into the motel, gone to my room, closed the door behind me then headed straight for that chair and sat in the goddamn thing for fourteen straight hours. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I barely moved. I just sat, shocked and destroyed and convinced my life was over. Never in a million years had I ever suspected Jill and I would be anything but happy and together. All day long at work I dealt with other people’s problems and hardships, the madness and inequities and outright cruelty of life, so home for me was a sanctuary, a safe house where I could relax and fall back into the love and security of my personal life. I could count on Jill and our life together. She made it all matter. She made me matter, gave me something to care about and look forward to. She was someone to care for and love, and someone to be loved and cared by. Jill and our marriage had become the foundation of my life, and once that was taken away the whole house came tumbling down on top of me. I’d been hurt before, but never like that. This was brutal and vicious and cut straight to the bone, the very core of who I was. You don’t heal from a wound like that. You learn to live with it, to prevent it from killing you, but you never heal.