Every Day Above Ground

by Glen Erik Hamilton

  I stopped halfway through my climb over the fence on the opposite side. Trey’s green Ford Taurus was parked on the street.

  Was Trey here? I looked around frantically. Had he just left the Taurus to walk over to our block?

  You’re out in the open, Stupid.

  I dropped back down, ran across, and vaulted into the next yard in one jump. The yard belonged to a family home, lots of little kid toys and a swing set. If I were lucky they wouldn’t have a mean dog.

  The fence was kind of sloppy and there were plenty of gaps between the boards. I peered through them, trying to spot Trey. The screwdriver he’d planted at the mansion was still in my coat pocket. I’d been very careful not to touch it.

  There he came, swinging open a hinged section of the fence to enter the cleared lots. He had the hood pulled up on his blue anorak and I couldn’t see his face in the dark, but I was sure that was him. I’d kind of forgotten how tall he was. He was carrying a hoe or a shovel, something with a long handle.

  Trey crossed the lots and jumped down into the foundation hole. I heard him digging. He seemed to be in a rush, and I realized that the sun was coming up.

  In ten minutes of fast work he was finished with whatever he was doing, and he jumped out of the hole. I could hear his heavy gasps for air. He stood there a moment—had he heard me somehow? Sensed me? I could take off. Jump the fence. I wasn’t sure I could outrun those long legs.

  Then he walked back to the hinged gate and left the property. There was the sound of a padlock clicking shut, and a moment later his car started. I saw its headlights stutter across the fence slats and then he was gone.

  It took me three seconds to jump up and over the fence and down into the foundation hole. What had Trey been doing? Digging something up?

  No, I realized.

  Burying something.

  Daybreak had lightened the clouds overhead just enough that I could make out a fresh patch of earth, about as long as I was tall. It made a gently rounded dune, just an inch or two higher than the bottom of the foundation.

  Had Trey buried some of the artwork? That was crazy. But it was still easier to think about him hiding some painting—to hang on to that hope—than the idea of what might really be under that mound.

  I had to see.

  I knelt down and started scooping dirt away with my gloved hands. It was easy. The earth was loose. The hole couldn’t be too deep, right? Not if Trey had only been working for a few minutes.

  But then I hadn’t seen him carry anything to the hole. Whatever big thing Trey had been covering up, it had already been here, waiting for him.

  I must have walked right past it in the dark. Scary thought. I kept digging. Dirt fell down my wrists into my gloves as I shoved big handfuls aside.

  Two feet down, I hit something. Cloth. I swiped away more dirt. The sky was definitely lighter now, because it was easy to tell I was looking at blue denim jeans.

  With a leg underneath.

  I fell back on my butt. My hands were so cold I couldn’t feel them when they thudded limply off my shoes.

  Trey had buried a body.

  But who? Had Granddad been wearing jeans tonight? I couldn’t remember.

  I jumped to the other side of the dirt patch and flung handfuls away as fast as I could. The body was lying on its side, a little curled up, so its head—its face—would be somewhere—

  There. I felt it, brushing my fingertips as I grabbed that last scoop of soil.

  Was it him? Slower now, I reached to brush away the earth, making myself do it before I chickened out.

  Gray hair. Pale, pale skin. A sharp, beaked profile.

  It was Quincey. The vulture man.

  Ready for the scavengers himself now. The thought came, sounding remarkably calm, and I pushed it away just as fast.

  I’d never seen a dead person before. He was so still. Not like a person lying down, but like an object. Two objects, half of a white mask and a strip of cloth, both emerging like separate pieces from the earth. Quincey’s face had a rusty crooked line on it.

  Blood. Pretty sure that was blood.

  I was really really glad his eyes were closed.

  Why did Trey bury him here? It was dumb. The body would be found as soon as anyone came to work on the house. And it wasn’t like he did it in a panic. He must have dug the—the grave, I guess it was—before Trey and Granddad and Quincey burgled the house last night.

  Brains are funny. Mine put a bunch of things in proper order just as coolly as if I’d been sitting in class and actually paying attention, instead of squatting in the cold dirt looking at a dead guy.

  Trey stole our screwdriver. He dug the grave and hid the shovel nearby. He planted our screwdriver at the mansion. Then he killed Quincey and buried him. Only a block from our house.

  Quincey was supposed to be found. Just like the screwdriver was supposed to be found. To point the cops toward Granddad.

  I looked at the streak of blood on Quincey’s face, like a worm wriggling up toward his clenched eyelid.

  Real worms will be here soon.

  Don’t think that. No time. You know what you have to do.

  I started digging. Desperate to see if Trey had planted anything else with the body. One of our kitchen knives. The hammer we kept with the screwdriver. Anything. That calm side of my brain told me how amazing it was that so many things in the house could be used to kill somebody.

  Nothing was buried by Quincey’s shoulders. Or on his chest. A lot more blood there. Had he been shot? Stabbed? More thoughts to push away as I kept digging.

  It was totally morning now, and that freaked me out almost as much as touching the dead Quincey. If I was seen here—anybody walking by and taking a minute to look closely through the sloppy fence—it was real real trouble. Like me going to juvie hall, like Granddad going back to jail, maybe for good.

  There was nothing. Nothing but Quincey, looking smaller than I’d thought he was. I guessed there might be a weapon lying under the body, but I couldn’t handle that. I undeniably couldn’t.

  And then I started crying.

  You baby, the calm part of my brain said. Somebody will hear.

  Didn’t matter. I sat there and curled up and stuck my face in my knees and elbows and just fucking bawled.

  I shoved all the dirt back over Quincey—sorry, I told him silently—and made sure I hadn’t left any footprints or anything, and then I ran back to the house.

  Still no Granddad. At home, or on the phone. I swore at it for the thousandth time. Why did he give me the stupid thing if he never answered?

  Of course, there could be a reason why he wasn’t answering.

  Kassie’s house. Trey might be there, back at home. That was where Granddad had picked him up in the RV last night. Maybe they were both there now. Go there, tell Granddad what I’d found. He had his gun. We’d be okay.

  I realized I was coated in grime and snot and maybe much worse, from Quincey. Gross. I kicked off my shoes and ran upstairs to throw the mucky clothes and gloves in the bathtub and put on new ones. A quick scrub got most of the dirt off my hands and face. I took Granddad’s field coat before grabbing my shoes, stuffing my feet into them as I hurried back out the door again.

  Nobody had stolen my bike. That was at least one thing that wasn’t world-class shitty about today. I sped through the cars driving on 23rd and up toward Interlaken.

  The narrow road between Kassie’s house and the brushy border of the park was busy. People leaving for work, or going out to buy last-minute presents, or outside decorating their houses. It was weird to see them doing regular things, when only a dozen blocks away there was a corpse under the ground.

  The purple-striped RV wasn’t here. Neither was Trey’s green Taurus, at least not in the driveway. I coasted closer, to see if I might be able to tell if it was in the garage.

  “Van!” It was Kassie, calling from the front door.

  Dammit. Not now. If Trey wasn’t here then I needed to get home and find anot
her way to reach Granddad. Call Hollis, maybe.

  “What’re you doing?” she said. “Come on up.”

  “Is your dad here?”

  “No,” she scoffed. “He’d go crazy.”

  I bet.

  “Is he at work today?” I said.

  “God, you’re freaky. Come on. It’s cold.”

  I hid my bike in the brush and joined her on the front porch. She was still wearing pajamas. Green cotton with blue dots, and leather moccasins. Her face was very pink.

  “Did you just get up?” I said as she led me into the kitchen.

  “Kinda. Dad was out all last night, so I stayed up late. I wanted to invite you over, but you haven’t given me your phone number or anything.” She said it like I’d disappointed her.

  “Sorry. I was out last night, too.”

  “S’okay. I’m making eggs ’n’ cheese. D’you want some?”

  I was starving, I realized. “Yeah.”

  “After you ran out yesterday”—Kassie giggled, remembering—“you looked hil-arious.”

  “You were the one jumping up and down.” I mimed her pointing hysterically to the gap at the side of the house. “There. There.”

  She giggled again, and took some eggs out of the fridge. “After you left I had to tell Dad I was playing Jenga by myself. I think he thinks I’m going nuts. Here all alone. He says he has a big surprise for Christmas.”

  I hadn’t thought about it before, but their house wasn’t decorated at all. It was like the two of them were guests for the holidays without any hosts. I sat at the table, couldn’t handle being still, and stood back up again.

  “Maybe I could come visit your home? If Dad lets me?” Kassie said.

  “Has your dad been here this morning?”

  “I told you, he’s out. You’re acting funny.”

  When I made fists, I could feel the dirt from Quincey’s grave, gritty under my nails. “Excited for tomorrow.”

  She gave me a strange look. “Okay.”

  And then Trey walked in the door.

  We both stared at him. And he stared at us, slowly straightening up to his full height. He still wore the dark blue anorak he’d had on when he’d buried Quincey.

  “Kassie,” he said.

  “Hi, Daddy!” Kassie said, like it was totally cool that she had a boy in their house.

  “Who do we have here?” said Trey, still looking at me. The same words he’d used when he first saw me at home, in the foyer. Under his storm of freckles, his face turned extra pink.

  “This is Van.”

  “Van, Kassie may not have toldja the house rules. What’s the rule I’m thinking of, little gumdrop?”

  He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t really sound like he felt much at all. And I knew that he had killed a man just last night.

  “No guests,” Kassie said. I could hardly hear her and I’m sure Trey couldn’t from twenty feet away.

  “How do you two know one another?” He was still standing in the doorway. Blocking it. I was sure he could catch me—was ready to catch me—if I ran for the backyard.

  “From school,” I said.

  Bad pick. Terrible. Even Kassie winced.

  Trey closed the door behind him. “Kassie goes to an all-girls school.”

  “Basketball,” Kassie said. “I met Van when we played at Hovick Middle School.”

  I nodded. That was what I had meant, sure.

  Trey moved into the room. He really was tall. “You kids got an early start today. Or were you here all night, Van?”

  “No, sir,” I said, quick as a rabbit. “My mom dropped me off.”

  Trey hesitated. He probably didn’t know anything about our family. It’s not like Granddad would be sharing secrets over beers or anything. Maybe there was a mom, and she knew I was here.

  “Van, go home,” he said.

  Sounded great to me. As I stood up, I saw that Trey’s cowboy boots were caked with dirt from the foundation hole. He noticed me noticing.

  “Whoops,” he said with the same flat spookiness. “Looks like I’m tracking on the floor.”

  “Daddy,” said Kassie, pleading. “Van just got here.”

  “I’ll go,” I said.

  “Then I’m walking you out,” Kassie exclaimed, and stomped past her dad to open the door. I’d have to pass him, too. My feet started moving, though the calm part of my brain that had helped me with dead Quincey seemed to have flown far away.

  As I passed him, Trey put out one long finger and hooked it around my arm. I could pull away. I didn’t dare.

  “You say hi to Dono for me,” he said. So softly I was sure Kassie couldn’t hear him.

  He let me go and I joined Kassie outside. We walked down the steps, and she led me around the house a little where no one could see, from inside or from the street.

  “M’sorry,” Kassie said.

  “It’s all right.” It really was. I was out of that damn house.

  “I wanted to—” she started. “I thought we could hang out. It’s Christmas Eve.”

  “Yeah.” Trey had said to say hello to Granddad. Did that mean he was okay? Or was it a threat, ’cause Trey had already—

  “Will you see me tomorrow? It doesn’t have to be here,” Kassie said in a rush. “I could sneak out.”

  Tomorrow seemed a very long time away. “Okay.”

  She kissed me.

  It was so shocking, I didn’t do anything. Not that I had time to, because it was already done. Kassie stepped back and tucked a lock of her orange hair behind her ear.

  I was supposed to say something now. I knew that much.

  “Um.” More than that. “That was cool.”

  She smiled, and I exhaled.

  “See you tomorrow?” she said.

  I nodded and Kassie ran back up the steps and out of sight.

  My face was hot. Davey would call me a pussy for blushing.

  I went to get my bike out of the brush. As I wheeled it to the road, I saw Trey in the upstairs window, watching me. Seeing the proof for himself that I’d lied about my mom dropping me off. The pedals crunched under my sneaker soles as I pumped as hard as I could, standing up and just running like the devil.

  At the end of the block, I stopped.

  My shoes. My black Adidas were still stained and trailing dirt from Quincey’s grave. The same dirt that I’d seen on Trey’s boots.

  He must have seen it on me, too.

  He knew.

  Twenty-Eight

  It was barely noon by the time we all regrouped on the Francesca, but it felt like midnight after a weekend spent scaling mountains. As wired as my mind was after the morning’s action, my body clamored for a large meal and a long siesta.

  Hollis had left the red and blue suitcases on the cabin floor. I unlocked both and flipped the lids open. All ten canvas sacks lay like crushed fruit within. I set one on the dining table and sat down to unzip it and remove the contents, placing them almost reverently in front of me.

  “Aren’t they lovely?” said Hollis.

  They really were. The gold bars looked like what treasure was supposed to look like. Each one had the heft that wealth should have.

  “Do you suppose Fekkete found out what we did? Before they grabbed him?” Hollis said.

  I glanced over at the O’Hassons. Mickey had collapsed on the settee, more asleep than awake. Cyndra sat on the floor next to him, head by his stomach, already out. Only a kid could sleep in that position, half on and half off the couch.

  “You’ve got a lot of room for Fekkete in your head,” I said to Hollis.

  He grimaced. “We set a man up to die. It sticks, somehow.”

  “I don’t make it a habit.”

  “Christ. No one’s saying that.”

  “Fekkete was a marked man before I met him.” I nodded at the father and daughter across the cabin. “They got in the way. That was partly my fault. Without me helping him, Mick might never have gone near the safe.”

  “I’ll drop the subject,”
Hollis said.

  Corcoran interrupted by coming in from outside. He slammed the sliding door, startling Cyndra into momentary wakefulness.

  “There’s a guy can move some of the bars,” he said. “I didn’t say how many, he didn’t ask. We’ll get into details in person.”

  “The gold’s probably clean, Jimmy,” Hollis said. “Market value.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I like cash. Let the other guy worry about the damn provenance.” He looked at me. “What about you?”

  I hadn’t reflected on much past surviving this morning’s exchange. Luce would have said that I’d been thinking tactically, not strategically. The kind of thinking that made planning my future an ongoing challenge. Maybe the money would last longer if I held on to some of the kilobars for the long term.

  “Let’s hear what your fence offers,” I said. “Then I’ll decide.”

  Corcoran shrugged. “I’m gonna set up a meet with him. Tomorrow, or the day after. Not to trade yet, just to talk numbers.”

  I whistled through my teeth a little as I stood up. Every bruise from my fight with Rénald at the quarry was saluting smartly.

  “If your extra berth’s open, I’m going to crash until sundown,” I said to Hollis.

  “Be my guest. What about these?” He beamed at the suitcases like they were favored grandchildren.

  I nodded at the cabin wall, where he’d recently held the smuggled bedposts. “You know where to hide stuff.”

  “I suppose I do at that.” Hollis shook Cyndra gently by the shoulder. “Come on, love. Let’s put you and your dad below.”

  The two of them got O’Hasson up and moving and made their careful way down the stairs.

  I looked down at the small pyramid I’d made of the bars. About four hundred grand in one little pile. Despite my earlier determination to enjoy the day, my thoughts kept steering in dark directions. Was this just a hangover from the action? Dono was given to black moods after a score. Even, and maybe especially, if it had gone well. Because the fun part was over.

  Fatigue, maybe. They taught us in the Army not to trust our emotions when the mission had ground us down to a nub. Use the higher intellect, and tell the reptile brain to go fuck itself with its tail.