by John Lutz
To Chrissie, the hand might as well have been carved from ice. “Jerry, damn it! Stop!”
But he didn’t want to stop. And right now didn’t even care if someone noticed.
She gripped his wrist and pushed his arm and hand away. The effort caused her to lose her balance and fall, dragging him down with her. They sat in the snow with their backs against the bales.
“You afraid somebody might see?” Jerry asked.
Chrissie made no attempt to get up. “It isn’t right. I don’t want you to do that again.”
“We all have our secrets,” Jerry said, watching his own breath fog in front of his face.
“You and me aren’t gonna have that one.”
“I know your secret,” Jerry said. He swallowed. “I’ve got the same one.”
She looked horrified for a few seconds; she knew what he meant, and briefly thought about confiding in him. He could see the indecision in her eyes.
Tell me, Chrissie. We’ll tell each other. That’ll make it all right. Or at least better.
Her lips parted slightly, and then her expression hardened.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jerry.”
“Yes, you do.” He took a deep breath, gathering courage, and tried to kiss her.
She shoved him away violently and attempted to stand, but her feet shot out from under her and she fell back down.
“Damn you, Jerry! Don’t try that again! Ever!”
“I didn’t know you cussed. Knew you did other things, though.”
“You’re too old for me, Jerry.”
“What? A year?”
“You’d be too old for me if I was thirty and you were thirty-one.”
He gave her a look that scared her. “If we were those ages���”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She stood up on her own and stayed on her feet, brushing the snow off her parka. “Keep that in mind, Jerry. Nothing. Not if you were the last boy on this earth.”
“We’re the same,” he said.
She acted as if she didn’t know what he was talking about, but she did know. He was sure she knew that he watched sometimes at night. Both twins knew.
“We’re the same,” he said again. “You, me, and Tiffany.”
And suddenly Tiffany was there, on a sled that looked brand new. Its curved steel runners were still painted bright red. The red was so vivid against the white snow.
Almost in the instant she appeared, Tiffany deftly turned the sled sideways and dragged her boots in the snow. She came to a smooth stop and stood up, holding the sled on end and leaning on it.
“You, me, and Jerry what?” she asked her twin.
But Chrissie was gazing beyond her, toward the top of the hill.
All three of them looked.
The twins’ father stood staring down at them, his feet spread wide and his fists propped on his hips.
“Nothing,” Jerry said.
Dragging his sled by its steering rope, he began trudging back up the hill, but at an angle, away from Mr. Keller.
“Nothing!” Chrissie echoed behind him.
The desperation in her voice stayed with him always.
“You were talkin’ to Chrissie Keller,” Jerry’s mother said, when he’d returned home. He’d struggled out of his snow-crusted coat, hat, and boots and left them piled on the floor in the mud room off the kitchen.
Still in her white terry cloth robe, his mother was seated at the kitchen table, her hands invisible in her lap.
“Sure,” Jerry said. “She lives next door and we go to the same school.”
An empty bottle flew through the air and crashed into the wall beside him. It was his first realization that his mother was drunk. Usually she started in heavily with the gin in the early evening, when she was off work from her waitress job at Vellie’s, where they served only breakfast and lunch. But today was her day off.
The throwing motion had caused her robe to open, and one of her breasts was entirely visible. She automatically pulled the robe closed with a quick motion of her right hand.
“I ask you a question,” she said, “don’t give me a shit answer.”
“I wasn’t-”
She raised her right hand palm out and shook her head back and forth violently. “You hear me? I mean, you hear what I said?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Jerry knew that if he agreed with her about everything without making it too obvious, kept everything smooth if delicately balanced, she’d become sleepy and get tired of picking on him.
Either that or���
“Chrissie’s father saw you talkin’ to her, called on the phone, and said you musta told her somethin’ that made her upset. Said Chrissie was cryin’.”
“I didn’t-well, maybe I did. But if I did, I didn’t mean it.”
“You tryin’ to get in that young bitch’s britches?”
Jerry felt himself go red. “Mom!”
“Britches bitch’s.” She threw back her head and laughed at her unintentional rhyme.
Then she stopped laughing. “I don’t want trouble with the neighbors, you unershtan’?”
It was the first word she’d slurred. This could become worse.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jerry said.
She stood up unsteadily. The gin bottle she’d thrown at the wall had been empty. The one in her left hand was half empty. Not a good sign.
“‘Cause you don’t have a father around don’t mean you can go misbehavin’,” his mother said.
“No, ma’am.”
She peered at him as if through the wrong end of a telescope.
“I mean, yes, ma’am.”
“It don’t mean you ain’t got nobody to whip your worthless ass when you need it.”
Jerry didn’t know what to say. He could only nod, hoping it was the right thing to do.
It wasn’t.
His mother weaved her way out of the kitchen and returned with a slender wooden switch about a yard long. It was actually a hickory switch, which seemed to dignify and make acceptable what she was about to do to him. Taught to the tune of a hickory stick��� Jerry knew all the words to the venerable schoolyard tune. Spanking was simply part of disciplining a boy, in his mother’s mind. Or in the mind of anyone who might inquire or in any way come to Jerry’s aid.
Spare the rod���
That wasn’t going to happen in the Grantland household.
“Bedroom, young man,” his mother said.
Jerry went.
“Need to learn how to hold your tongue,” his mother said behind him.
Jerry knew what to do. It took him only a few minutes before he was standing shivering, wearing only his socks. The top of one was still wet where snow had worked its way inside his boot.
His mother stared at him until he bent over the foot of the bed, his elbows on the mattress.
“I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have to,” his mother said. “If you didn’t make me.”
Jerry clenched his eyes shut and waited.
The wooden switch hissed like a snake as it cut through the air.
Over and over again. After each hiss came the sharp snap of the switch whipping into the bare flesh of his buttocks and the backs of his thighs. The pain became a constant fire.
She shouldn’t be doing this to me. I’m too grown up. It isn’t fair. It isn’t right.
Jerry knew enough not to make a sound. He’d adapted to the pain enough so that he could remain silent except for an occasional whimper that escaped on its own and didn’t seem to his mother to count. Clenching his teeth hard enough to break them, he could smell the sweet reek of gin on his mother’s breath as she began to labor at her task.
She spread her slippered feet farther apart to gain leverage. Jerry had to be disciplined, didn’t he? Best thing for him in the long run.
The lashes with the switch began coming further apart. His mother’s breath was now ragged, rasping harshly with each inhalation. She
was making more noise than Jerry.
With his eyes closed, Jerry stared into the darkness inside him, waiting for it to be over.
But for the pain, it might have been happening to someone else.
Sometimes it did happen to Chrissie Keller, whose father loved her.
Jerry stayed in his room after the whipping, lying curled on his bed and listening to the rain that had begun falling and would soon melt the snow. If the temperature dropped below freezing again, there would be an icy mess outside.
For some reason he was drained of strength in his mother’s presence. She could do what she wanted with him. It was���infantile, and he was ashamed.
He didn’t move for several hours. The rain hadn’t exactly stopped; it now sounded more like sleet.
He heard the rattle and jingle of a car with chains on it, loud enough to be in the driveway.
The car stopped. Jerry didn’t bother looking out his window to see who might be driving. It would be a man he wouldn’t recognize. Or worse, one that he did. A car door slammed, and he heard someone on the porch. The doorbell didn’t chime, but he heard the door open.
A few minutes later his bedroom door opened and his mother stuck her head in. She had on a dress now, and her hair was combed with bangs carefully arranged on her forehead. She was wearing makeup.
“I’m going out for a while, sweetheart,” she said. “There are leftovers in the refrigerator if you get hungry.”
Jerry didn’t move. Said nothing.
After about twenty seconds he heard the front door open and close and the sound of footfalls on the porch. The car in the driveway started up, and he heard the faint jangling of its tire chains again as it backed out to the street and then drove away.
To be on the safe side, he counted slowly to a hundred before getting up and going to his mother’s bedroom. The pain was still there, and he moved slowly.
The bedroom was warm, as if she might still be there with her body heat, and it smelled of rose-scented powder and spiced sachets.
When he was in front of his mother’s dresser with its tall mirror, he turned his body slightly and saw that there were bloodstains on the seat of his white Jockey shorts. Red lash marks patterned the backs of his pale thighs.
He smiled at his image in the mirror and then bent low and opened the dresser’s bottom drawer.
38
New York, the present
Pearl had been first to arrive and was alone in the office. A soft summer rain had begun to fall. It changed the colorful street scene outside the first-floor window from realism to impressionism. The light in the office was made soft by the wavering rain running down the glass panes. It was a light you could almost reach out and feel.
“It’s insane,” Pearl’s mother said over the phone.
Pearl squeezed her cell phone almost hard enough to break it. “I thought you’d want to know. You’re always so interested in my personal life, and now I’m changing my address.”
“To move in with the Yancy lizard. Not wise, Pearl.”
“It’s a decision of the heart, Mom. Like when you married Dad.”
“Heart, shmart,” her mother said. “Your father-and I still miss him dearly-and I were engaged for two years before we were married. Besides, it had all been arranged.”
“Well, I’m not married to Yancy, and anyway, marriages aren’t arranged anymore. At least not in this country. We’ve made progress in that regard.”
“You have noticed the divorce rate, Pearl?”
“But the murder rate among spouses has fallen,” Pearl lied.
“What does Captain Quinn think of this new living arrangement you propose?”
“I’ve told you, Mom, Quinn is no longer a police captain. And he doesn’t know about it yet.”
“I know in my mother’s heart-as do you in the heart of a dear daughter-that Captain Quinn would not approve.”
“So what?”
“So you are not heeding the opinion-which you know he has-of a man of the world who has sailed harsh seas and endured storms and developed a weather eye, and would tell you that over the horizon-”
“He doesn’t even know Yancy.”
“He knows many Yancys, dear. And their victims.”
“You haven’t met Yancy, either, Mom. How could you possibly know any of these terrible things about him?”
“I know those who know of him, Pearl. Word passes from mouth to ear, and the word is not good. Mrs. Kahn’s cousin’s son, himself not a young man with the highest prospects, has been in the Yancy lizard’s presence many times in the places where such people congregate, and Mrs. Kahn’s cousin’s son, once a psychology student at New York University until a so-called misunderstanding about purloined university property brought about the end of his scholarly pursuits, has seen and heard and has some insight into the Yancy lizard’s lies and deceptions and total lack of responsibility. He has seen the Yancy Lizard with women other than yourself, imbibing and laughing, and it would logically seem-”
“Mom, I’m not the only woman who goes into bars and imbibes and laughs.”
“And you would not be the only woman to fall prey to a reptile of the night and-”
“Gotta go, Mom. Police business.”
Pearl flipped the lid closed on the cell phone.
She could talk with her mother about personal matters only so long before snapping and saying things she’d regret. Pearl had learned not to let it reach that point. Not as often as before, anyway. And she hadn’t exactly lied about police business. She was in the office where, as of late, police business was conducted.
She was sliding her cell phone into her pocket when it vibrated in her hand.
She smiled when she saw that the caller was Yancy.
“Still love me?” she asked with the phone to her ear.
“If you’ll do certain things,” Yancy said.
“You know I will.”
“Then it’s a match. Did you mention to your mother you were moving?”
“I did. She isn’t happy about it. Isn’t happy about you and me.”
“She hasn’t even met me,” Yancy said in a puzzled voice.
“She thinks she knows you by reputation.”
“Nobody knows anyone by reputation. Introduce us, honey. I’ll win her over.”
“You can’t win over everyone you meet, Yancy.”
“Sure I can. She probably just heard something negative about me from someone jealous ‘cause I’ve got you. Believe me, I can clear up any misunderstanding and change her mind about me.”
“She called you a reptile of the night,” Pearl said.
“Well, that’s nothing. Just a figure of speech. I can turn her around.”
Pearl saw one of the passing impressionist figures out in the street veer in toward the doorway, lowering and folding an umbrella. A figure tall, rangy, yet hulking. Quinn arriving.
“I need to go now, Yancy. Crime needs attention.”
“So do I, darling.”
“Yancy���”
“Always willing to step aside for crime. Tonight?”
“Tonight.”
Pearl slid the phone into her pocket just as Quinn was coming through the door. He nodded a good morning and shook water from his black umbrella before depositing it in an old metal milk container that had been pressed into service as an umbrella stand.
Pearl watched as he walked over and poured a mug of the coffee she’d brewed. He added powdered cream, stirred, sipped, made a face. It was all an act because she’d made the coffee. They both knew cops drank any kind of black sludge for coffee and it was all the same to them.
“Got those notes on our witness interviews from yesterday organized?” he asked, drifting over and settling in behind his desk.
Pearl went to her desk, got the folder of witness statements, and laid it on his desktop.
“I thought I might find Cindy Sellers and talk to her,” Pearl said. “I still think she’s a good bet to be our shadow woman.”
Quinn laced his fingers behind his neck and leaned his head back into them, moving his elbows back and forth and stretching. “Sellers is good at denying things,” he said.
“I’m good at seeing through fake denials.”
“You are at that.” Quinn looked closely at Pearl for the first time this morning. She was well put together today, dark slacks, light tan blazer, black hair brushed back to a knot at the base of her neck. He remembered how surprisingly long her hair would be when she loosed it from that knot. The way it would tumble to below her shoulders and close in an oval frame around her face, making her eyes look larger, softening her features.
“Quinn?”
She was still waiting for his response.
“Can’t hurt,” he said. “You might learn something while Sellers is lying to you. Go ahead and talk to her woman-to-woman.”
“Woman to piranha,” Pearl said.
Quinn figured she was waiting for him to ask which woman was the piranha, but he was too smart for that.
As she was going out the door, she glanced back and for just a second pursed her lips and arranged her features in what was unmistakably a kind of fish face. Knowing as she often did exactly what was in his mind.
Quinn pretended not to have noticed and started leafing through the material she’d placed on his desk.
He didn’t look up until he heard the door close. Mumbled something that might have been, “Piranha���”
39
Quinn thought Pearl had returned, but when he looked up he saw that Addie Price had entered the office. Her hair was damp from the rain, but its mussed condition somehow improved her looks. Her jeans and green tunic looked good on her, too. She grinned and wiped rainwater from her brow and said hello to him.
“Morning,” Quinn said. Then, “Sorry about your desk. It’s still on order.”
“That’s okay. I can continue doubling up with Fedderman for a while.” She crossed the room and then sat on the edge of Pearl’s desk, not at all the way Pearl habitually perched there. Addie’s lanky body looked more comfortable, maybe because her legs were longer than Pearl’s and one of her feet was flat on the floor. “Anything new?”
“Nothing,” Quinn said.
