Thursday's Child

by Teri White

  “Well, it sucks,” Robert said. “She sounds like a real cunt to me.”

  “Yeah,” Beau agreed. “A real cunt.”

  Robert leaned close and whispered, “Want me to kill her?”

  They both laughed.

  When they were quiet again, Beau said, “Do you think I’m a freak, Robbie?”

  Nobody had called him that for a very long time. Robert blinked back a sudden hot dampness in his eyes. Christ, he thought, I’m drunker than I thought. “No,” he said. “I think you’re fine.”

  “How come nobody likes me, then?”

  “I like you.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure.”

  Beau smiled with little-boy sweetness. “Thanks. I like you, too.”

  “Good.”

  “And you can trust me, Robbie. I won’t ever tell anybody about … about anything.”

  “I know you won’t.” Robert reached out a hand and lightly ruffled Beau’s hair. “I mean, I’m trusting you with my life. Would I do that if I didn’t like you a lot?”

  “I guess not.”

  Robert left his hand where it was for a moment, lost in thought. Then, realizing again just how drunk he was and that drunk people sometimes did or said crazy, stupid things, he yanked his hand away. “We better go home,” he said.

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  They struggled to their feet.

  “Shit,” Beau said with another giggle. “I feel sort of funny.”

  “You won’t feel funny in the morning,” Robert warned him. “And neither will I.”

  “Race you home,” Beau said suddenly.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Beau’s only response was to take off, laughing, across the sand. Robert left the empty champagne bottles where they were and set off after him. It was pretty much of a tie as they hit the front porch and banged into the house. As one, they collapsed onto the couch, both panting.

  By the time Robert was able to speak, he realized that Beau had fallen asleep. Or passed out, which was more likely. Robert pushed himself up and managed to turn the dead weight of Beau’s form lengthwise on the couch. He removed his shoes and socks, stuck a pillow under his head, and tossed a blanket down.

  Then he went to bed.

  2

  Beau woke with a start and realized that he’d been sleeping in his clothes. His feet were bare, but otherwise he was completely dressed. The second thing he realized was that his head hurt. This, he decided, was his first real hangover.

  He sat up slowly and then had his third realization of the day: he was going to throw up.

  Immediately. He made a quick dash for the bathroom and got there just in time.

  Amazingly, he felt better almost instantly after puking. He brushed his teeth, then stripped off the rumpled, sandy clothes, and got into the shower. By the time he’d finished and wrapped a blue towel around himself, he felt quite normal. Whistling cheerfully, he went into the kitchen.

  Robert was sitting at the table, holding on to a cup of black coffee with both hands. “If you don’t stop that fucking noise,” he said mildly, “I’m going to cut your lips off.”

  Beau stopped. “Morning,” he said, studying Robert critically. “You look a little sick.”

  “Yeah? Well, I feel worse than that. How’re you?”

  He shrugged. “Fine. I threw up and that made me feel better.”

  Robert made a face. “Must be nice to be young.”

  Beau poured himself a glass of juice and gulped it down a little desperately, which made Robert smirk slightly. “Thanks for yesterday,” he said.

  “Yeah, sure.” Robert looked at him with bloodshot eyes. “You better put some clothes on. We have a lot to do today.”

  Beau knew what that meant and the thought made him feel a little sick again. He wished that Robert didn’t have to keep killing people. Sure, he was trying to understand why, and all that, but it was scary. What if one of them had a gun, too, and shot Robert first? Beau didn’t know what he would do if that happened.

  He dressed quickly, putting the new fringed vest on over his T-shirt. Everything that had happened yesterday was already fading into memory. All he had left were the vest and a sort of good feeling inside. He could only hope that it wouldn’t fade away, too.

  Back in the kitchen, he made himself some toast. Robert refused his offer to make him some, too, and just stuck with the coffee. Beau sat at the table to eat the toast and jam. Halfway through the second slice, he looked up. “Robbie, is it business we have to do today?”

  As Robert met his gaze, something Beau couldn’t quite read flickered through the man’s eyes. “No,” he said after a moment. “This is personal.”

  Beau sighed. “Looking for Danny Boyd, you mean.”

  Robert set his cup down carefully. “Looking for Boyd, yes,” he said. “I’m going to keep looking until I find him.”

  Beau didn’t say anything.

  “You don’t have to hang around here, if that bothers you,” Robert said. “I trust you. Take off anytime you want.”

  Beau couldn’t decide if that was a suggestion or an order. He licked at the strawberry jam above his lip. “Do I have to?”

  “What?”

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  Robert closed his eyes and carefully massaged his forehead. “I don’t give a damn, Beau. Do what you want.”

  “Okay,” Beau said. He picked up the rest of the toast.

  The day was actually pretty boring.

  After spending some time on the phone, speaking in a low voice that Beau, watching TV, couldn’t quite hear, they left the house and drove over to Melrose Avenue. Robert parked across the street from a place called Hunt’s Fine Antiques and they just sat and watched the customers come and go.

  A couple of times during the afternoon, Beau left the car and ran up the block to a small croissant place for sandwiches and cold drinks. Robert smoked a lot of cigarettes and Beau read the newspaper.

  Finally, when Beau was just about to decide that boredom could be fatal, businesses started closing along Melrose, including the antique store.

  “You’re whistling that fucking song again,” Robert said.

  Beau glanced at him sheepishly. “Sorry.”

  “Never mind. I’m just feeling a little edgy. Maybe I’ll find out where Boyd is from this guy. This means a lot to me.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Beau folded the newspaper and tossed it into the back seat. “Who is this man anyway?” he asked after a minute.

  “Camden Hunt? Oh, he’s a terrific guy. He likes to pretend to be a legit antique dealer. But what he really is is a fence. A heavy-duty, high-class fence, but still just a fence. Boyd is an old friend of his. If Danny Boy is trying to hustle up some bucks, this would be the guy he’d come to see.”

  Beau rubbed newsprint ink from his fingers onto his jeans. “You’re just going to talk to him, right?”

  “That’s my plan, Tonto, that’s my plan.”

  It was already getting dark when Camden Hunt came out of the store. He was tall and thin, with long blond hair. He locked the door of his shop and got into a new green Jag.

  Beau looked at Robert, but didn’t say anything, because Robert was already intent on his prey. They followed the car for several blocks before it turned into a dark parking lot. They watched Hunt pause a moment to comb his hair before going into the building. Robert drove in a moment later, going past the other car to the far corner of the lot.

  “Gay bar,” Robert said, mostly to himself. “So what I heard about him is true.”

  Beau didn’t say anything.

  Robert tapped the steering wheel, thinking out loud. “If he comes out with somebody, I can’t make a move. And I can’t afford to wait much longer. This whole thing is dragging on too long. It’s dangerous for me. And Boyd is liable to split town or fuck up and end up back inside before I can get to him.” After another moment, he turned and looked at Beau thoughtfully.
“You want to help me out, Tonto?”

  “Me? How?”

  “Go in there and see if you can’t get him to come out here with you.”

  Beau swallowed hard. He didn’t want to do that. He wasn’t even sure exactly what it was that Robert expected him to do. “I don’t think I can.”

  “Sure, you can,” Robert said, studying him with eyes that were suddenly cold. “You sure as hell don’t look legal, I know, but this joint doesn’t look all that particular. And maybe Hunt likes them young.”

  “Robbie, please, I don’t want to.”

  “I’m asking you to do me a favor, that’s all.”

  Beau couldn’t stand the look of betrayal he thought was on Robert’s face. “Okay,” he said in a whisper. “What do I have to do?”

  “Simple. Just go inside and try to get friendly with Hunt. Get him to leave with you, so I can talk to him.”

  Beau’s mouth was dry. “He won’t try anything, will he? You know what I mean?” He swallowed hard.

  Robert shook his head. “Hell, would I let you walk into something like that? You know I wouldn’t, Tonto. Just get him out here. I’ll be waiting.” He punched Beau lightly on the arm. “Go to it.”

  Beau got out of the car and walked slowly across the lot. At the door he stopped, glanced back toward the car, and straightened his shoulders. He walked into the bar.

  The music was loud and the air thick with cigarette smoke. Beau coughed once and then started looking for Hunt. A couple of men around the bar spoke to him, but he ignored them. Finally he saw Hunt sitting alone at a table. Beau walked over that way, but he still didn’t have any idea what to say, so he just stood there, staring at Hunt until the man looked up.

  “Yes?”

  “Can I sit here?” Beau asked.

  “Sure. But aren’t you a little young to be in this place?”

  “My birthday was yesterday,” Beau said truthfully as he pulled out a chair and sat.

  “Many happy returns,” Hunt said. “You can sit, but all you’re getting to drink is a Coke.”

  “Okay.” Beau leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. Maybe it wouldn’t take too long. The thing was not to think about what he was doing, but just to do it.

  Robert smoked his way through half a dozen cigarettes as he waited in the car. He was feeling a little guilty again; hell, he was feeling a lot guilty over using Beau this way. It was damned unprofessional, for one thing. There were other ways to get at Hunt. He shouldn’t have sent Beau into this place. He felt almost like a pimp and it wasn’t a feeling he liked. What the hell was he trying to prove? Or make Beau prove?

  Just thinking about it made him uncomfortable.

  But sitting there he didn’t have anything else to do but think about it. The question that was nagging at him was just how far would he go in using Beau? What came after sending him into a fag bar to pick up somebody like Hunt?

  Robert didn’t like to think that maybe he could be the kind of bastard who could hurt a kid. But who knew, until push came to shove?

  When the door of the bar opened again, he watched without much hope. But this time, Beau appeared, followed closely by Hunt. Hunt had one hand on Beau’s shoulder as they walked across the lot.

  Robert reached under the seat and pulled out the gun he’d stashed there, just in case. He got out and headed after them quickly. They were standing by Hunt’s car when he reached them. “Go back to the car, Tonto,” he said quietly.

  “What’s going on?” Hunt asked.

  Beau hadn’t moved yet.

  “Back to the car, I said,” Robert ordered more sharply.

  Beau glanced at Hunt quickly and then ran off.

  Robert shoved Hunt more deeply into the darkness.

  “I wasn’t doing anything with the boy,” Hunt said. “He simply wanted a ride. Good Lord, he’s just a child.”

  “I know.”

  Hunt was looking increasingly desperate. “He only wanted a ride.”

  “I’ll give him one.”

  “No problem,” Hunt said.

  Robert just looked at him. “I’m looking for Danny Boyd,” he said. “You being an old buddy of his, I thought maybe you could help me out. Wouldn’t you like to do that?” He smiled.

  Hunt shook his head. “I haven’t seen Danny in a long time,” he said. “We don’t run in the same circles anymore.”

  “How come I don’t believe you?” Robert said. He took the gun from his pocket and quickly stuck it under Hunt’s chin. “Maybe you want to try again and this time try harder to convince me.”

  Hunt didn’t say anything. But he didn’t have to. The sound of the switchblade clicking open said it all. Where the hell had the knife come from? Robert was irritated with himself for not having anticipated something like this.

  “Bastard,” Hunt said tightly.

  His arm and Robert’s finger moved at the same time. Robert fired and moved back quickly; the knife blade just grazed his chest as Hunt pitched forward.

  Robert wiped the gun on the front of his shirt and dropped it before running for the car. There, he just had time to slip into the driver’s seat before the door of the bar opened and several men came out. They looked around, saw nothing, then seemed to shrug collectively, and went back inside.

  Only then did Robert start the car and drive away slowly.

  Beau was slumped in the passenger seat, his eyes squeezed closed. Both hands were over his ears.

  Neither of them said anything.

  When they got back to the house, Beau went directly to the bathroom. Robert, standing in the hall, could hear him throwing up. He didn’t think it was the champagne this time. After a moment, he went into the living room and sat on the couch.

  Beau finally emerged, pale and trembling.

  “You okay?” Robert asked.

  “No, I’m not okay,” he replied. “I feel like shit. I feel like it was me who killed that guy.”

  “Well, it wasn’t. I did it.”

  “You told me it was only to talk to him. That’s what you said.”

  “Hey, the punk pulled a knife on me.”

  “Yeah? Well, he seemed nice to me. He was going to give me a ride.”

  “Right,” Robert muttered. “He wanted to do more than that, you know.”

  Beau glared at him. “Maybe so, but he wasn’t going to kill me.”

  Robert was tired. “He might have killed me, though. Would that have made you happy?”

  “No,” Beau whispered. “But couldn’t you have just hit him or something?”

  “That’s not the way I play,” Robert said. “You want to see what his fucking knife did to me?”

  Beau shook his head. “The thing is, Robbie, you make it seem so easy. Probably you could kill me just as easy. Maybe you will before this is over.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Robert said angrily.

  “I’m not stupid. I just don’t like being made to feel like some kind of accessory to murder.”

  And he didn’t like the way Beau was looking at him. “Why don’t you just go to hell, then,” he said in a tight voice. “Leave me the fuck alone.” He went into his bedroom and slammed the door.

  It was only a moment later that he heard the front door slam, too.

  3

  Beau hitched a ride with a solitary tourist, a priest from Wisconsin. It turned out that back home, he ran a shelter for runaways. As they rode along, he tried to persuade Beau to leave the streets. To go home.

  When they reached Hollywood, Beau thanked him and got out, promising to think about what the man had said. Which was a lie, of course, because there was no way he’d go crawling back to Saul.

  He just walked up and down Sunset until it was very late and the crowd had dwindled down to the hard-core street regulars. Beau found a doorway that was empty and he crouched down there wearily. He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do.

  Finally, exhaustion took over.

  He didn’t know how long he’d slept when he was jerked fro
m a restless dream by the feel of rough hands on him. “What?” he said, startled. He found himself peering up into a strange face, a face that was pale and sweaty and crazy-looking.

  “Shut up,” the man said in a wheezy voice. “I want your bread. I want all your fucking bread. And your shoes. Gimme your bread and your fucking shoes, or I’ll fucking kill you.”

  Beau didn’t move.

  The man slapped him hard and his head bounced back against the door. “Give it to me.”

  Beau was trembling so hard that he could hardly untie his Nikes. “Here,” he said, shoving them toward the man. Then he fished a few crumpled bills from his pocket and tossed them down.

  The man clutched the shoes with one hand and grabbed for the bills with the other. “That all? That all?” he said, slapping Beau twice more.

  Beau nodded. “Yes,” he whispered.

  Instantly, the man was gone.

  Alone again, Beau started to cry. He hated himself for being such a baby—Robert would never be this scared—but he couldn’t stop the scalding tears that rolled silently down his face.

  Robert was sitting on the couch, where he’d been all night. On the table in front of him were several empty beer cans and an ashtray overflowing with butts. He hadn’t slept at all.

  It was just after dawn when he heard the soft tapping on the door. He got up quickly and went to open it. Beau stood there, barefooted and dirty. His face was dirt-streaked and pale, except for a small bruise on his cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  Robert stared at him for a moment, then tugged him inside and into a hug. “It’s my fault,” he said, pulling back. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do that.”

  Beau shook his head. “I owed you.”

  “No, you don’t owe me a goddamned thing. Everything I’ve done was because I wanted to. You don’t owe me.”

  They finally went and sat down.

  “I’m glad you came back,” Robert said.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t have any place else to go.” He wriggled his bare feet. “And I don’t seem to do so well by myself.”

  Robert lit a cigarette and looked at him through a cloud of smoke. “In other words, you’re here because this is all there is.”