Nightmare Ballad

by Benjamin Kane Ethridge

  “Stop, you fat fuck!”

  Johnny did. He put his hands over his head. Heart singing. Singing the song. But his mind still hadn’t caught on yet.

  “Why you fuckin’ shooting?”

  “He was running!” said an out-of-breath voice.

  “And you couldn’t chase him down? Asshole. Asshole. Asshole. Goddamnit. You better go out to the street and check.”

  “There ain’t nobody out there. Calm the hell down.”

  “Thoughtless son of a bitch.”

  “Calm down, I said. Do we put him in with the ones from the other day?”

  “They still in there?”

  “Should be. Whatever’s left.”

  The cold mouth of a handgun pressed into the back of Johnny’s sweaty neck.

  “You come back for your friends, piece of shit?”

  Johnny trembled head to toe. He licked his lips and tasted salt and fear. “I…got lost. I thought this was my uncle’s tow yard.”

  “Right. I always visit relatives by sneaking into the back of their place.”

  “He…always forgets his phone. Thought he was in the building over there.”

  The gun jabbed deep under his skull. “You’re a shitty-ass liar. Two days pass, and you figure the coast is clear?”

  “Two days?”

  “Since your buddies came down here. They told us another guy would show up. Said he’d be here that day, but he never showed. We thought they might have been making it up to stall us. But now, I’m thinking you somehow figured out your pals Lou and Jimmy got caught, so you decided to try your luck another day. What balls.”

  “I don’t know anyone by those names.”

  “Well, let me introduce you. Come on.”

  “No wait—I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please listen.”

  “Move your lard.” The gun nudged him forward, and Johnny, like a puppet, began walking.

  Two days? How could it have been two days ago? He’d just been in the bar last night…he’d only dreamt he’d been there for a long time. That was a dream.

  A dream.

  (Nightmare).

  They led him to the steel mill. The sound of barking echoed from its depths. Johnny glanced at an indifferent Mexican guy examining a random crate, as though to assure that nothing had tainted the goods. Johnny saw the copper inside. It shimmered, burnt red and gold. That could have been his. That could have been his way out. The deeper they took him inside the mill, the vaguer that reality became to him, the less the metal glinted in the sunlight.

  He admired the shine until, like everything else, it faded, an old mirage.

  Chapter 10

  Without doubt, confronting the execs could get him fired.

  Luke was already walking on the thinnest ice possible with the Los Angeles project noose hanging around his neck. Blake had called him last night, but he didn’t have the emotional strength to hear the bad news. When he finally listened to the message this morning, the voice mail said little other than “Call me back.” Could he still be transferred to that satellite position up north? Would that even matter now, seeing that at the interview Dara had some kind of breakdown? What had they done to her?

  It had to be Stobecker. He must have made her feel…unwholesome. It had to do with their marriage, that much he knew.

  This wasn’t something he could let go. Both Maribel and Dara were hurt over the incident. Dara, for obvious reasons. Maribel, for not being able to protect her. She wasn’t the sort who allowed others to bully her friends, doubly so when it came to her husband and wife.

  This wasn’t her battle, though. Luke had to make this right. He had to at least make some kind of gesture to appease both of his wives, and yet, in the interest of keeping any chance of retaining his high paying though pain-in-the-ass, job, he had to step lightly on that thin ice…especially with the fire-and-brimstone wrath of Derek Stobecker.

  On his way to work this morning, Luke had decided he didn’t care who was at fault for the lack of interview; right now, to rescue any credibility, his words had to be heard. And those words couldn’t be the truth. He had to lie, and lie his ass off. Let the damage control commence.

  It was difficult to be convincing, however, with such sketchy details. Everything was dim about that day. He and Maribel had been up and around the house for a long time. They kept on talking each other out of waking Dara. She’s resting. She needs her sleep. Resting will get her mind clearer for the interview. They’d let an entire day and night slip past them. How did that even happen? At some point he’d picked up his guitar (the still-painful pads of his fingertips had scabbed over in a series of deep rifts splitting the skin) and he’d just played and played and played. Music was music was music. The ballad equaled the ballad equaled the ballad. It was perfect. He’d tried to replicate the notes in his head and the song rolling forth from his sleeping wife. Never could get it right. Never could remember it like he did that day at the pool.

  The music had faded suddenly, and he’d noticed that Dara was gone. Maribel had told him to drive over to see if she’d gone to GeoGreen, because she couldn’t remember what had happened to Dara, and the kitchen was flooding from the broken pipes. It was instant confusion and bedlam.

  The event reminded him of that day at the pool. Luke had been thinking about it a lot lately. He should have done more to warn the parents. Maybe that was what Dara had been driving at by bringing it up the other day. Everybody knew what frogmen were capable of doing, so why did the parents go without a fight? Why did they (and he) accept the frogmen so easily? And where had the children gone? They must have seen their parents being drowned, but Luke didn’t remember hearing any of them screaming or crying. How could he, with that hopeless song in his head? The kids just blended into the background, and other than what the police officer said on the phone about them going to family, he didn’t know the fate of any of those kids, except for Petunia, who didn’t seem to be getting along so well.

  Luke should have been the voice of reason, just like he should have told Dara never to get involved with GeoGreen. He’d let her do the interview on the chance of saving his own job. Now the whole thing had traumatized her. That was his fault. He was supposed to be there for her.

  Perhaps that’s what he was doing right now. Going down with the ship, Captain Courageous.

  Courageous, yeah sure. That’s a laugh.

  Luke stepped into the board room. All those who had been present at Dara’s interview were accounted for, including Blake and representatives of his largest contracts with the United States Air Force. The atmosphere in the room thickened to rotten molasses as he walked through the door. Luke went dizzy a moment, all those pairs of interested and confused eyes on him.

  “Sorry…. Can I sit in briefly with all of you after the meeting concludes? I won’t take a moment.”

  Derek stood, an uneasy shift to his broad, bony shoulders. “No, this isn’t a good time. Please just return to work.”

  “It’s just that Dara was in a serious accident prior to your encounter, and since then she’s recovered. I really want to discuss her interview.”

  “Excuse me, Luke, but we will deal with this later. Okay?”

  “No, no. The Rhodes family won’t wait for later,” said a voice at Luke’s side. Maribel pushed past him into the conference room. “I apologize in advance to others present and not responsible, but those accountable need to fess up right now. Which one of you denied Dara’s reapplication?”

  Luke’s heart stopped. “Mari, no—wait!”

  Blake raised his eyebrows at Luke and leaned back in his seat, his face expressionless.

  Maribel stood before them, eying each at a time, her hands at her sides, about to draw imaginary pistols. Her honey complexion had darkened, making her face fierce behind her long brown hair. “Tell me to my face why Dara doesn’t deserve this chance. Or you can cut the baloney. We know you’re doing this because of me, so let’s have it out right now.”

  “We’re
in the middle of a—“

  “It can wait,” Maribel said through her teeth.

  Blake leaned over to his military companion. “Sorry, this will only take a minute.”

  One of other executives pointed to the phone. “Ask how she got up here?”

  “She used her husband’s spare badge,” said Maribel with a level gaze. “And I won’t be thrown out of here until I’ve said what I need to say.”

  Derek Stobecker blinked, obviously ready to give consent, but the two-star General at the table snickered. No way, he mouthed. Let her talk. He sat straight in his chair; before, he’d been slouching, looking rather bored.

  Luke didn’t want to look at anyone’s face. This was the beginning of the end. As much as he yearned to tell everybody at GeoGreen exactly what he thought of them, it seemed irresponsible to self-destruct like this. Not having control of the outcome was even worse. Maribel must have sensed he’d feel this way, because she reached back and clutched his hand.

  Dara wouldn’t have the vigor to do this, but Maribel would glide through this moment. Luke should have been storming in, not standing meekly at the door with his sorry attempt at passive assertion.

  “Well?” Maribel demanded again. “Out with it. I’ve got work to do. I’m sure you have stuff to get back to as well—like setting up my husband to take the fall for all your mistakes—but I have a substitute teacher who’s probably feeding crayons to my students, so I’d like to settle this now.”

  “Fine…uh Mrs….”

  “Rhodes.”

  Derek chewed on his lip for a second. “Uh, yes. Look, we’re more than happy to keep Dara’s resume on file. We have other applicants to interview, and we will consider them all equally. We are in a meeting. Can you both please get out of here now?”

  “So she gets another interview?”

  “She had her interview. We dedicated two days to Dara Rhodes. That’s more than anybody else. We waited for her to show and when she did….”

  Maribel gripped Luke’s hand harder.

  “Ah, I get it,” said Maribel. “You’re going to play stupid. All the while you’re slamming a gavel in your minds.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Oh please. As if you would.”

  “Maribel,” Luke whispered. “Don’t….”

  “I don’t expect any of you to care. Maybe you think I’m silly. Maybe you think I’m a bad woman. Good, fine, you go on imposing your own reality on how we live our lives. But blame me. Dara just wanted a chance and you slammed the door in her face.”

  Nancy Gildcrest, director of finance, cried out, “She showed up in her bra!”

  At this, the General’s eyes went wide, and he put a manila folder up to his mouth, hiding a smile.

  “Was there head trauma in the accident?” That was Neil Thoreau from Human Resources.

  Blushing, Derek massaged the bridge of his nose. “Was there, Mrs. Rhodes?”

  Maribel took everybody in once more and basked in the silence. “Something happened that was out of Dara’s control. That’s all anybody knows. I believe her. Would it make sense for a sane and sober person to behave otherwise?” Maribel took a deep, quivering breath. Her hand on Luke’s had become sweaty, cold. She felt this, too, and let go. “Don’t hold any of this against my husband either—I didn’t tell him I was coming here. Besides which, you don’t pay him enough to be your moral equal. You’ve all just put our family through so much lately, and, and, that’s it…I guess. I’m done venting. Sorry for the intrusion.”

  “I’m sorry,” said the General, “it’s none of my business, but I’m confused. Who is this woman to you?”

  “My wife,” said Dara, calmly, before heading out of the room. The door shut and the air fell into a hard silence.

  Even Luke had cringed when she said the word. “Thank you for listening,” he mumbled and drifted out.

  Outside, Maria had left only about an inch of daylight between her and Maribel. She was pointing at her as though disciplining a child. “If you don’t leave right now, I’m going to be forced to call security. You can’t just barge into a meeting.”

  “Really?”

  Maria glowered.

  “Don’t worry, I’m going now,” said Maribel.

  “Good. Now move it!”

  Maribel did not take orders well, and Luke could tell she wouldn’t let the command slide. His wife looked the woman up and down in unchecked disgust. “Is this that cat in heat you always complain about?”

  Luke closed his eyes, feeling like a wheelbarrow of bowling balls had cascaded over him.

  Maria’s eyes, heavy with mascara, narrowed. “What?”

  Luke swallowed. “She’s teasing. I never said that….”

  “Who the hell do you people think you are?” Maria snapped and pointed at the stairway. “Get the fu—get out. Get out of my building.”

  “Oh it’s her building now.” Maribel simpered, turning a shoulder to Maria. “Fine, wouldn’t want my eyes scratched out. Have a good one.”

  Luke contained his smirk as he followed her down to the lobby. Maribel walked ahead of him like a revenge-determined machine. Her phone rang, and she took it out, checked the screen, sighed, and put it to her ear.

  “Hi Allie.” She listened intently for a few seconds. “That was today? Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll get there soon. Did the Sub hand out the music worksheets yet…? Yeah. How many are done? Just David. Okay. I’m on my way.”

  She hung up and glanced at Luke, a hint of shame surfacing in her face. “I broke. I’ve been dreaming about coming down here for a while. The interview made it impossible to stay away.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he said quietly. For a moment, he wanted to pretend everything that happened just now hadn’t, so he changed the subject. “What was that call about?”

  “On certain days, Allie’s husband brings his keyboard in and teaches the kids music. I forgot it was happening today.”

  “That the weird guy?”

  “He’s married to Allie, so there you go.”

  Luke chuckled despite everything and figured he couldn’t avoid the obvious. “So, you okay?”

  “He just creeps me out. He watches Allie like he doesn’t trust her. Makes me trust her even less. I really need a different instructional aide.”

  “No, I didn’t mean that. I meant are you okay with what happened to Dara?”

  Maribel turned to him. “Was that not clear upstairs? No Luke, I’m not okay with it. And I don’t feel too great about what they’re doing to you either. This is all about me. I know it. If Johnny hadn’t blabbed….”

  He embraced her for a moment, but she broke away from him.

  “I love you. I better get going. I’m sorry I just made this harder for you.” She looked down, a thin sheen of tears rising. “I just can’t let this stuff go on any longer. They’re trying to break us.”

  “It’ll all work out.” He touched her face, his fingers caressing her chin. “It will.”

  Maribel smiled and hurried for the exit.

  Drained, Luke climbed the stairs and returned to his office. In his breast pocket, he touched the envelope Maribel had given him. He’d planned on opening it at work on the day of their anniversary. If it was good news, it would be an ideal place to cheer him up. If it was bad news, well then, misery loves company.

  Not for the first time and probably not for the last, he wondered: does she love me the way she loves Dara?

  Out his window he spotted Maribel jogging to her car, fists penduluming back and forth. She wasn’t moving like someone angry, more like someone at their wit’s end.

  She dropped inside her mini-cooper, looking so very tired.

  Chapter 11

  These dogs hated other dogs, and Man wasn’t their best friend.

  This was to say, in dumb-ass terms, that Lou and Jimmy were dead, and Johnny Cruz was next, if these slobbering pain-filled animals had their say. In the dark, it was difficult to distinguish the breeds; the light bulb at the top of t
he stairwell only painted their wet muzzles and eyes with a dearth of detail behind their plastic kennels. Breed didn’t matter though. All moved with psychotic hunger, all bit at the grated kennel doors with a lunatic’s flair for repetition, and all had the terminal haunting of the abused and the damned in their eyes.

  Johnny had been instructed to kneel four feet from the cages (seven, that he could tell). The gun hadn’t moved from the back of his head while the men questioned him. At times they sounded less like thugs than like concerned small-business owners. Did some other yard like ours tip you off? Bullshit, what have our competitors said about our yard? You work for the city you say--so does the department of Water and Power have any clue about our operation? Johnny couldn’t answer any of that, and he supposed, unfortunately for him, the two eviscerated dead men on the floor hadn’t either.

  Over the last hour, Johnny’s eyes had adjusted to the light. Against the far right wall, he made out two-tiered bleachers and a large chalk board. He could scarcely read the names written there, but each had a ratio next to it.

  Puggy Panocha, 10:1

  Ralphie-Boy, 3:7

  Count, 23:1

  St. Skeeter, 2:5

  These fools had some brass balls keeping a dog-fighting ring so close to their storage place. If one operation attracted attention, both were screwed. Johnny was in no place to criticize, however, and reminded himself of this by glancing at the big pile of dog shit in front of Lou’s dead face. One of the man’s eyeballs had been ripped out, and a thin gray straw of vein lay limp outside the darkened hole. Good thing he didn’t die staring at that pile of shit. Then again, Lou might have died smelling it, and he might have heard that congregation of blissfully feasting flies.

  Their buzzing took Johnny back to the song—it was a lot like the song Dara had brought to the bar (brought? No, it must have come on the juke when she showed up).

  The gun dropped away from Johnny’s head but left a dull-feeling spot on his skin. Asshole Shitwad, the name Johnny’d given the thug during their time together, clucked his tongue obnoxiously several times at different pitches. “Should we take these bodies out somewhere?”