GODWALKER

by Unknown

  In his cell, Joe was crying. He tried to keep it very quiet, because he didn’t want the cops to know.

  He was all by himself in the jail, so he guessed the police had cut the Mundys loose. Normally Joe wouldn’t have thought about it much, but being in jail, alone, with nothing but those damn soap operas on the three lousy TV channels, he’d had plenty of time to think.

  Chief Stelke had to be right. He’d been with the Mundys when his dad got killed. But he was still sure they were in it, somehow. They had to be. Nothing else made sense. No one else would kill his dad. No one.

  That was how the thought had snuck up on him. His father was dead. He started to cry.

  After his mom had passed away Joe and his dad hadn’t gotten along all that great. Neither one was a great talker—Lisa had started most of the conversations in the house, and without her it had just gone quiet. But Ralph had still been there. There had even been a few times when they were working together—quietly, but together, maybe with the hoods on during a fumigation—that Joe and his father (or not his father? Joe still didn’t know what to think) had gotten into a synchronization. Their tasks had meshed and integrated perfectly, working side by side, each moving out of the other’s way like an intricate dance and it had been perfect. Perfect. Those few times, and they weren’t many, they hadn’t needed words. Joe had just known Ralph the way he’d known how to breathe, the way he knew the sky was blue.

  Now it was like the sky was gone. Except for his brief stint in the Army, all of Joe’s life had interlocked with Ralph’s, had affected and been affected by it. Now all that had simply vanished, leaving Joe spinning like a wheel in a deep icy rut, whirling madly but making no progress because there was no connection.

  Joe lay on his side in his bunk with his knees pressed to his chest, holding them, and a quiet whining sound crept out of his mouth as he tried, tried so hard, not to wail. Periodically, his whole body would shake as he sobbed. He had to breathe through his mouth, because of the snot.

  The door opened.

  It wasn’t the door of his cell, it was the door to the cell block, and Joe hurriedly sat up, grabbed a handful of rough toilet paper and wiped his nose savagely, rubbing his eyes, blowing so hard he got dizzy.

  “Hey Joe?”

  Joe sniffed and tried to sound casual as he said “Hey Luther.” It didn’t work. Not at all.

  “Uh…” Luther looked at his friend and was simply at a loss for words.

  “Shit, you fuckers ever clean out these mattresses?” Joe asked. His breath hitched and he winced but he went on. “I think there’s, like, something I’m allergic to in here or something.”

  “I’ll see what I can do ‘bout that,” Luther said, wondering what he should say. He thought about “Are you okay?” or “Are you okay, man?” but he wasn’t certain how Joe would take it. He’d never seen his friend like this, except maybe when his mom died, but that was different. Joe had been younger. And when he needed to, he’d been able to go out for long rides on the highway on that shitty motorbike that he’d sold off when he went to the Army.

  “Uh…”

  “Hey, is that supper?” Joe asked.

  “Yeah,” Luther said, relieved. “I actually got you some good food instead of the usual institutional crap you’d get in here.” He set the tray down and passed a McDonald’s bag through the bars. “Better eat them fries quick before they get all cold and nasty.”

  “Thanks man. You get me a box of those McDonaldland cookies?”

  “Like, the sugar cookies? Yeah, I know you like ‘em. Next best thing to a cake with a file, right?”

  “Really. Man, I thought you had to pony your ass out to get stuff like this in jail.”

  Luther snorted, and for a moment it was like old times. But the bars snuffed the feeling quickly.

  “I uh, also got you some magazines. ‘Soldier of Fortune,’ ‘Maxim,’ one with all that heavy metal bullshit you like…”

  “You the man, Luther.”

  “You ain’t seen the best yet,” Luther said, glancing toward the door. Then he pulled a bottle out of his pocket and twisted off the top.

  “Here, hand me that styrofoam cup.”

  “MGD? No shit!”

  “Nothing but class, my friend.” Luther poured the beer and handed it through the bars. Joe guzzled it quickly, then held the cup back for the rest.

  “I’m gonna get you out of here, you know,” Luther said, as Joe tucked into his food.

  “Yeah?”

  “Shit Joe, we got no case on you. The chief knows it, I know it, your lawyer knows it. I hear we’re bringing in the county on this, so we’ll find the real shooter soon.”

  “Yeah, well, I hope so. ‘S my taxes that pay your salary, you know,” he said, grinning a little around his full mouth.

  “No worries.” The words echoed hollowly around the bars. “So… Joe… I was thinkin’…”

  Joe swallowed, said “Yeah?” and took another bite.

  “Would you, I dunno, wanna stay with my family and me for a while? When you get out I mean. Like, just until you get your shit together.”

  Joe thought about it, and suddenly he remembered that his father was dead. It wasn’t like he’d forgotten. In his mind, he always knew it, the knowledge was there. But emotionally, all his life he’d been used to assuming that his father would be involved and he caught himself constantly thinking that it was still so. His eyes teared up and he snorted and sniffed.

  “Uh… we got that futon bed in the basement. You could, like, stay on that for a while.”

  Joe had turned away. His voice was cracked as he said “Yeah. Uh, that could work. I think it’d be good.”

  “Okay then.”

  “Yeah.”

  Luther heard his friend sniff and thought again about asking, about saying “Are you okay?” But having not said it right off the bat, it seemed even harder and more awkward to ask it now. So instead he said, “I’ll, uh, get going, I guess.”

  “All right.”

  Luther picked up the tray, and as he was about to leave the cell block Joe’s voice stopped him.

  “Luther?”

  “Yeah Joe.”

  “Thanks. I mean, you’re my best friend.”

  Luther was silent a moment.

  “‘S nothing.”

  Then he closed the steel door and left his friend in jail.

  * * *

  Out at the Steak and Shake, the Mundys had burgers as well.

  “These really are just the best shakes,” Fred said. “The burgers are all right, kind of overpriced maybe, but these shakes are just fantastic.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Leslie said, a little smile on his face.

  “What, that I got a good milkshake?”

  “No. I’m glad to hear some joy in your voice.”

  Fred shrugged, blushed a little. “Nothing like jail to make you appreciate the finer things in life outside jail.”

  “Hmph.” Kate swallowed and said, “Now that we’re out, how do you plan on staying out?”

  “I’m hoping that won’t be too much of a problem.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No really. You saw that redneck sheriff.”

  “Police chief.”

  “Whatever. He had us pegged as the shooters, no doubt about it.”

  “Well,” Leslie said, “We were the obvious suspects. I mean, we roll into town, get into a public brawl with Kimble, and the next day he’s dead. You can’t blame him for connecting the dots.”

  Fred gave Leslie a light glare. “You know, I’d forgotten how often you do that.”

  “Do what?” Leslie asked, taken aback.

  “Take the other guy’s side.”

  “I’m not taking anyone’s side…”

  “No really, I remember driving you to high school. If I cursed at someone for cutting me off, you’d always say something like ‘Well, he did have his turn signal on’ or something.”

  “So what?” Kate demanded. �
�I seem to recall someone telling him how important it was to be kind and forgiving.”

  Fred shrugged. “I’m just saying it gets a little old, for those of us who aren’t moral paragons. I mean, always having him stick up for the other guy who can’t even hear what I’m saying.”

  “Anyhow,” Leslie said, looking down at the table and taking a deep breath, “You were saying why we don’t have to worry?”

  “Oh, right. That cop never would have cut us loose unless we were proven innocent. Not just that, proved innocent some way he wouldn’t be able to dummy around, you know?”

  “Hm,” Kate said. “You know, he did give me my gun back.”

  “Really? Now that’s interesting. Do you really think he’d do that if we were murder suspects anymore?”

  “I think he knows we didn’t do it, but he’d probably love to stick us with some kind of related charge,” Kate replied.

  “So what do you think we should do?” Leslie asked. “Skip town now that the heat is down?”

  “That would look awfully suspicious to him, but he’s suspicious of us anyway,” Kate mused.

  “Well… if we got away, that’s true. But he’s got to be watching us like a hawk. If we try to run, he’ll nail me on a weapons charge.”

  “He could do the same to me,” Kate admitted. “Besides, if we run now, we’re really leaving Joe in the lurch.”

  “Uh, the last time I saw Joe Kimble, he was trying to hole me with a shotgun,” Fred said. “Do you really think he’d miss us if we blew town?”

  “Not for long,” Kate said, glaring. “Only as long as it took TNI to cap him. Or whoever it was that did his old man. If you think it’s too risky to stay here…”

  Fred slammed his hand on the table. “Don’t you try to taboo me, baby,” he hissed. “Just ‘cause maybe you think it’s too dangerous to run away…”

  “Would both of you just stop it?”

  Leslie’s parents turned, eyes wide. So did half the restaurant.

  “Damn boy, no need to be yelling,” Frank muttered.

  “Oh, it’s okay for you, but the paragon of virtue isn’t allowed to have a temper?”

  “Calm down,” Kate said.

  “What for? Why should I bother? I’m never going to be the godwalker, never going to ascend into immortality, so why shouldn’t I be as petty and irritable as the two of you?”

  “Leslie that’s enough.”

  Something in Fred’s voice backed Leslie down. Maybe it was simply father-fear. Or maybe it was a touch of what he’d seen Fred do to Kate, the other night, in the parking lot. In any event he looked down at his cooling dinner and picked at a french fry. For a moment, there was silence.

  “Leslie, honey, what’s the matter?” Kate asked.

  “I don’t know.” Leslie had another fry. “Maybe I didn’t like going to jail. Or maybe it’s because my father got gunned down in cold blood.”

  There was another long pause.

  “So what are we going to do?” Fred finally asked.

  “What can we do? Joe doesn’t want us around. It’s pretty clear to me that, one way or another, we brought this trouble on him. Maybe if we leave it’ll come along with us.”

  “Nah, I don’t think you can put the juice back in the orange,” Fred said. “Someone’s taken notice of the boy. The minute he’s out of that prison, he’s a target. Like us or not, without us he’s good as dead. Maybe if we could…” He trailed off.

  “Could what?” Kate prompted.

  “If we could convince him of the truth. Show him what his real destiny is. I mean, Kate, that spell just did not work on him! That proves we were on to something, right?”

  “You still want to cram him into the godwalker mold?” Leslie demanded.

  “As a Mystic Hermaphrodite, he’d at least have some sense of what was going on. If he could sense when people charge up around him, he’d be a lot better set to get away from them. I mean, we can’t protect him forever!”

  “Do you really think we can protect him now?” Kate asked.

  Fred looked down into his meal as he spoke.

  “Kate, you know we can get as much power as we need.”

  Both the others were silent for a moment.

  “I mean, he did give you your gun back, right?” Fred continued.

  “You’re suggesting…?”

  “The big risk. The big payola. You have to admit, with that kind of juice we’d be able to hold off all comers—probably for quite a while, if we play it out right.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Leslie exclaimed. “You’re willing kill yourselves over him? Jesus, you weren’t even willing to stay married for me!”

  “Leslie! That’s a terrible thing to say!”

  “Oh why? Because it’s true? Well it’s also true that I’m the fucked-up changeling child who’s never going to ascend. That’s a terrible thing to say and it didn’t stop you two from reminding me.” He turned to Fred. “How about this one? You’re a wife-beater!”

  “You better just shut before I become a child-beater too.”

  “Careful ‘Dad,’ I don’t have to be forgiving any more.”

  “No one’s asking you to!”

  “Uh, pardon me?”

  The three Mundys turned as one to look at a portly man with a nervous expression but a rather handsome moustache and soulful brown eyes.

  “Who the hell are you?” Fred demanded.

  “Um, I’m the manager here. I’m afraid…” He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “What?” Kate squawked.

  “I’m sorry, but the other patrons are complaining. You’re creating a disturbance.”

  “Buddy, if I decided to create a disturbance, half the fucking state would notice,” Fred replied, glaring.

  The manager took a deep breath and met Fred’s gaze. “I hope we won’t have to get the police involved here,” he said.

  “I’m out of here,” Leslie said, standing. “You’re rid of one third of the disturbance, anyhow.”

  “C’mon Fred, let’s go.”

  Fred sat, glowering. “I haven’t gotten the tab yet. And if Leslie thinks I’m paying for him…”

  “Just go,” the manager said, half firm, half pleading. “This one’s on the house.” He even managed a faint touch of irony.

  “Mighty big of you,” Fred said, pointedly staring at the manager’s belly, but he stood too. He and Kate were halfway to the door when Fred turned back.

  “One more thing.”

  The manager tensed up.

  “You make a mighty fine milkshake.”

  It wasn’t the greatest parting shot ever, and Fred was still simmering with anger and humiliation in the parking lot. He walked with his head down and took two steps past her before realizing Kate had stopped.

  “What?”

  “Leslie took the car.”

  “Shit!”

  * * *

  Leslie drove back towards the hotel, lips tight with anger but eyes pouring tears. He was amazed by his own actions. He didn’t want to be a jerk to the only parents he’d ever known, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was like they’d slowly been turning the heat up inside him for years. His training as a Hermaphrodite—the systematic erosion and reconstruction of his sexual identity—he’d seemed accepting through most of it, despite the humiliation. There were a few flare-ups, but mostly he acted cool. When his father left, the temperature went up a few more notches. Being jailed for murder was almost as hot, but he still tried to stay calm, to be nice, to forgive and be the bigger man.

  Then, suddenly, in the restaurant some part of him had said “Fuck that shit.” Getting chucked out of a fast food joint because of his parents was the last matchstick and Leslie had, at long last, melted down. All the pain he’d blocked for years came roaring out, sucking the oxygen out of his lungs, scalding his flesh and tearing his eyes. He knew he should care about Joe, should forgive Fred, should stick by his mother… but the pain eclipsed
all that, burned it like paper, leaving him no chance to think of anything but his own suffering.

  * * *

  “Well ain’t this some shit,” Fred said as they started the long walk back to the hotel.

  “Oh Fred,” Kate said, tiredly. “Do you really blame him?”

  “Hell yes I blame him! I’m freezing my nuts off here, and I’m tired and… aw, you’re right aren’t you?”

  “I don’t even know anymore. Maybe he did fly off the handle.”

  “Well, maybe I had it coming.” They walked in silence for a few steps. “It was probably inevitable, sooner or later.”

  “Save your breath for the walk.”

  They walked on.

  Fred heard a sound and moved closer to his ex-wife.

  “Kate? Are those your teeth chattering?”

  “Uh huh.”

  He put his arm around her. She moved closer.

  They walked.

  Neither one of them knew Morse Code. Even if they had, neither was likely to listen for a message in the irregular clatter of a cold woman’s jaws. But although Kate didn’t know it, her involuntary shivering was making her teeth tap out “DEATH… POWER… DEATH… POWER…” over and over.

  “I could get us a ride, you know,” Fred said. “I still have some juice left.”

  “We should save it. Whoever got… you know, Kimble…”

  A truck rumbled by. Fred stuck out his thumb.

  When Kate began to cough, Fred decided to do it anyway. Covered by the sound of a passing car, he muttered, “Ride” and stuck out his thumb.

  The next car pulled over—and flashed them with its police lights.

  “Hitching’s illegal, you know,” Chief Walter Stelke said, leaning out of his window.

  “I don’t fucking believe this,” Fred muttered, wondering if something was going twisty with his mojo. First he found Ralph instead of Joe, he got a cop instead of a no-hassle ride… hell, maybe it went all the way back to Leslie’s conception.

  The chief looked at them both. “Well, you coming? It’s a nasty night for a walk.”

  “If we don’t want to come, are you going to bust us for hitching?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it, but probably.”