The Boy Must Die

by Jon Redfern

“You’re young! This could be the machine for you, believe me.”

  Justin was surprised at the rush of his disappointment. This was not what he’d counted on. So that would explain the empty rooms, Randy’s lack of furniture. He looked again at the Harley. Randy was staring at him, nervously wiping his mouth. Justin felt an ache rise in his stomach.

  “I’m not sure, Randy.”

  “Look, Justin. Think it over. I know it’s sudden. Don’t tell anyone I showed you the hog. You’re the first I’ve offered her to. Believe me. I can give you a deal, like I said.”

  “Thanks. Thanks a lot. But, sir, I have a confession. I wanted to ask you for money!”

  “No kidding!” Randy forced a laugh. “You broke or what?”

  “I owe some money, and I was wondering if I could maybe get an advance. On my stipend for the dig. Today, in fact, before we leave town.”

  Randy frowned and rubbed his right hand over his mouth. “Not at this short notice. Payroll is slow and sticky when it comes to that kind of arrangement, Justin. Believe me.”

  “Sir, you could loan the bike to me. I could maybe try to sell it for you. Maybe we could work out an arrangement. I pay off some of my debt, then I pay you back slowly, maybe pay you my stipend. . . .”

  “Well, no, Justin. That’d take some time. You sound like you’re in the same hole I am.”

  Justin walked into the open and gazed down the slope of the hill. How easy it would be, he thought, just shut the garage door, turn on the Harley’s engine, breathe in the carbon monoxide. An easy crossing from life into death. He turned and watched Randy wiping the leather seat with a cloth. “You’re right, Randy. It’s a great machine. You could get a lot of money for it.”

  “Well, Justin. You like her, then?”

  Justin’s mind was running in circles. “Like you said. Nine thousand is a good deal.”

  “You bet it is.”

  “I should get going if you want us back by 3:30.”

  “I’ll stay down here for a while. I may even take the bike out for a spin. You sure you don’t want to try her out?”

  Justin hesitated. There was no way he could bargain with Randy now.

  “I should move on.”

  “Okay. See you at 3:30.”

  Justin walked to the lot. It took him a minute to locate the Olds. He got in, started the engine, and drove towards the intersection. After speeding across the Oldman River valley, he headed up Ashmead and Dawson Streets, passed the post office and his old high school, and turned onto Parkside Drive. He parked and ran up a fieldstone walkway leading to the glistening oak door of a huge low-roofed house. “You’ve got nothing to lose by asking,” he said under his breath. The garden was damp from a recent watering; the grass shone with hard green light. He desperately rang Patsy Hanson’s door chime. He rang it again. Where was she? The chimes had a lilting sound, an expensive sound, as if they had been fashioned from a thin precious metal. “One more time.” He pressed the chime. The last note was starting to fade when the door swung open.

  Patsy Hanson stared into Justin’s face. For an instant, it appeared she was looking into thin air. She did not focus on him but seemed dazed at finding a young man on her doorstep.

  But then she smiled.

  Her right hand moved from the doorframe to her hip, while her left hand held aloft an unlit cigarette. She smelled of gin.

  “Well, Justin. Long time no see.”

  Justin first met Patsy six months earlier in his anthropology class. He was surprised when she asked him out for a drink; she was his professor, twenty years older than he was. Justin’s instincts warned him not to get involved, even though Patsy was attractive and persuasive. And she was always so forgiving and generous. Justin shoved his hands into his pockets. Patsy’s perfume and the gin on her breath gave him an erection.

  “I need to see you,” he said. The wet warm air from the lawn pressed against him.

  “How nice for me,” she said, throwing back her head. Her bikini was red and covered in black polka dots. Wiry pubic hair jutted out from the sides of the elastic along her upper thighs.

  They made love first on the hallway floor. Justin kept his shirt and his hiking boots on. Patsy laughed when he grunted and came. She pulled him up and led him into her bedroom. Tossing her crumpled bikini onto her vanity table, she instructed Justin to peel off the rest of his clothes as she lay naked and waiting on top of the stretched starched white sheets. “I want to come back to you,” he whispered in her ear. The lie came out so quickly that Justin had no time to think about what he’d said. After showering together, Patsy insisted he stay the rest of the afternoon.

  “I can’t. Honest. I’ve got Mucklowe’s dig to go on at 3:00.”

  “I see.”

  She made him coffee and sat down next to him at the round glass table in the kitchen, kissing him and fondling his neck while he hurriedly drank the bitter espresso. He knew she would not like what he was going to ask next.

  “I’m in trouble, Patsy. I need some help.”

  Patsy’s face pinched.

  Justin’s next words came out choked, and his shoulders began to shake. “I’m really afraid. Yianni Pappas is after me.”

  “What?”

  Patsy wrapped her arms around Justin’s neck.

  “How the hell did you get mixed up with him?”

  “I borrowed money. A lot. I thought he was a friend.”

  “He’s a crook, Justin. A mean one.”

  “Some guys at school said he played fair. I didn’t know.”

  “How much do you owe?”

  “Six grand. He wants full payment by Saturday. Or else.”

  Patsy Hanson let out a breath. She pulled her arms away. “I see,” she said, staring at the kitchen cupboards. When she stood up a few seconds later, her naked body caught the mid-afternoon sun. She meandered to the large windows that opened onto the back garden. “You said you wanted to come back to me, am I right?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you really came here to fuck for money.”

  Justin said nothing.

  “Well, didn’t you?”

  “Patsy, I don’t know what to do.”

  “I know.”Her voice was hard-edged.

  Justin thought he should wait it out. All he needed from her was a cheque. It’d be easy to cash it today. On the way out of town, he could pay off Yianni. Get off the hook for good. Patsy liked being with Justin, and Justin knew it. She would act hurt and angry, but he knew she desired him. Still, he waited.

  Patsy stood at the window and did not move. She looked like a statue, posed with her arm against the glass.

  Justin moved his legs. “You know, Patsy, Yianni burned a guy so bad with a blowtorch the guy almost died.”

  “I’m not sure that story is true, Justin.”

  “He did it. He burned half the man’s body for a loan worth no more than. . . .”

  “There are ways of getting money, I suppose, that don’t involve sex. Like a blowtorch. Sometimes I think that might not be such a bad thing.” Patsy’s voice was flat and toneless.

  Justin stood. She will tell me to stay or to go, he figured. Even so, he must try to get her to see his desperation. Moving closer, he put his arms around her.

  “My problem is your problem, too, Patsy. If Yianni hurts me or even kills me, you’ll have that on your conscience.”

  Patsy Hanson turned to face Justin. His heart was beating fast, as if he’d been running, as if he’d been with Yianni Pappas himself. He had done something he’d never done before. He’d used his fear to make another person fearful.

  “You are right about that, Justin. You are so right.”

  Patsy walked to the door leading to her bedroom. “I don’t want to lose you.” She smiled, allowed her face to show a fleeting look of triumph. Justin moved back by the table, folded his arms across his chest, hoping his plea would work. If it did, all his problems would be solved, and he could go to the mountains feeling free. All his money problems, that i
s. “How long does your dig last?”

  “Starts tomorrow. We get back in four days. Friday the fifth. Mucklowe is putting us up at his cabin in Waterton Lakes, and we’ll be crossing the border every day to get to the Chief Mountain site in Montana.”

  “And Yianni? When does the bastard want his cash?”

  “Saturday morning. And he means it. Saturday or else.”

  “Let me see what I can do.” Patsy walked into her bedroom. She spoke to Justin from there. “I won’t be a minute. Meet me in the front hall.”

  The hall had a long table and a view of the lawn. Justin waited by the front door, glancing at the ceiling, hearing Patsy humming to herself in her bedroom, opening drawers, closing closets. She came out in less than five minutes wearing a pair of jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt. She had pinned up her hair and put on lipstick. Is she going to take me to the bank? Justin wondered. She handed Justin a small box.

  “Open it. It was a gift from my father many years ago. I want you to have it.”

  Justin lifted the blue paper lid of the box. A small rabbit’s foot with a chain of brass lay on a bed of white tissue paper.

  “It’s for good luck. It’s also a sign of trust between us, Justin. I know I’ve been angry with you. I know I can sometimes lose my temper. So I want to make things right. You have to promise one thing, though.”

  “Anything.”

  “You haven’t heard me out yet.”

  “Okay.”

  She stepped closer, placing her hands around his neck. Gently, softly, but he could feel her strength.

  “Promise me you will come to me Friday night. Right after the dig. As soon as you get home. Promise me you will stay with me for the whole night. If you do, we’ll go to Yianni together. And I’ll pay him off. Then the two of us can work something out. Start over.”

  Justin lifted his hands to hers. He held them and kept his eyes on hers.

  “I promise, Patsy. On my life. But how do I know I can trust you?”

  Patsy’s face went blank. She stiffened, indignant.

  “You have no choice. You want the money, you prove to me how badly you want it.”

  “If I come, will you have the cash?”

  She said nothing, just smiled. Justin pulled away.

  He turned the box in his hand. It was clear he had no choice. Can I be sure? Patsy liked to play games. She loved to tease and taunt, to say one thing but mean another. She opened the front door. And smiled again. Justin walked to the Olds without looking back at her, knowing he had come close. Very close. He started the engine. Patsy was draped against the open door. Justin raised his hand, and she waved back. Driving down Parkside, he did not feel anything but numb disappointment and fatigue. At the stoplight, he lifted up his hands from the wheel and looked at them. They were still empty.

  He drove for a while, brooding, until he found himself by the banks of the Oldman River. He pulled the Olds into a stand of trees and got out and walked to the edge of the water. How easy it would be to fall in, to let the current take me. He pulled the rabbit’s foot from his pocket and hurled it into the far rapids. To hell with Patsy. And yet she did say she’d pay Yianni off. She had money, she liked sex, she was risking a lot. So why wouldn’t she come through?

  Still, Justin needed a backup. Someone he could rely on if Patsy decided to slam the door in his face. But who? He crouched on the bank of pebbles and listened to the murmuring water.

  Who?

  The sun was still high in the west when Cara Simonds drove out towards the Rockies, her car following Mucklowe’s Chevy van. Justin slumped in the front seat. He had not bothered to phone Karen, though he knew she’d be anxious to talk. He stared ahead at the black road, peering into the light as if his eyes were full of grit.

  “You don’t look too happy, Justin,” Cara said, making her voice sound as soothing as she could. “Is there anything wrong?”

  “Can I trust you, Cara?”

  “You know you can, Justin.”

  “I need money. I need to borrow some money to pay off a debt to a loan shark named Yianni Pappas. He’s threatened to kill me if I don’t pay by this Saturday.”

  “Oh, Justin, I’m sorry. I wish I could help you.”

  “Do you?” Justin sat up.

  “I don’t mean money, Justin. My mom has been sick for a while, and my dad is unemployed. I’d rob a bank for you if it’d help.” Cara smiled.

  “I am serious, Cara,” he said, his voice becoming gloomy.

  “I believe you, Justin. But I really don’t have any money. Have you tried going to the bank? Maybe the manager or your mother’s banker could help.”

  “I’m afraid not. My dad left us with a lot of debt. My mother’s job hardly pays for groceries.”

  Cara drove in silence. Justin slid down in his seat again. She meant well, he figured, but she didn’t really believe him. He liked being with her, close beside her; the smell of her hair and perfume made the afternoon seem brighter. He looked up now at the broad stretch of Highway 5. Four lanes winding through farm- and ranchlands south to the small town of Cardston. Justin glanced at the passing fields of green and the shallow coulees trickling with small streams. Soon Cara was talking about school and the upcoming dig, trying to get his mind off things. Justin wanted to talk about her. He began asking about her mother, her family, if she was seeing anyone at the moment. She told him about her last affair, how it was over. Definitely over. As the light changed, clouds gathered slowly, their tufted undersides turning pink and gold. Cara pointed to the ditches alongside the road. The first blooms of July filled gullies and slopes with waving patches of yellow buttercups and wild lupine.

  With cooler air rushing in the open windows, Justin recognized the region of foothills bordering the mountains. The sun was slowly descending, and he felt his dark mood returning. Randy stopped ahead at the entrance to Waterton Lakes Park. He bought two passes and walked back to Cara to hand one to her. “We’ve made good time, Cara,” Randy said. He returned to his Chevy van and drove in through the park’s entrance, with Cara following up a long curving hill to where the mountains came into full view. The vast spill-plain of the Blakiston River lay below them full of wildflowers. Justin did not feel elated. He saw only long afternoon shadows. Cara slowed to gaze at the purple hue of the shale peaks.

  “Isn’t that pretty?” she said as they drove on.

  Justin looked up. A hotel painted brown and green and looking like a cross between a tipi and a Swiss chalet sat on a knoll facing an immense fiord. The mountains formed a corridor, each side a cragged line of immense stone shapes that rose from the edges of the emerald water. Cara said she wanted to take pictures when the dig was over. Justin couldn’t understand her awe. The slopes of fir trees seemed to him desolate and lonely places where a man could lose his directions and starve to death. Waterton village buoyed his spirit a little. It looked cosy and clean, the stores with brightly lit windows. The village was spread over the sand delta of the Cameron River. Running parallel to the main street was the emerald lake’s beach of smooth white stones.

  When they finally reached Randy’s cabin, the sun was turning the bushes of wild rose and fragrant kinnikinnick a cool evening blue.

  “Your rooms are behind the kitchen,” Randy announced.

  The crew unpacked the Chevy van, hauling indoors the grocery bags and the luggage. Randy took out the tarps with the digging gear and locked them in a small wooden shed sitting in tall grass behind the cabin. The cabin itself had low beamed ceilings. The walls were of varnished plywood. The air inside smelled of cut firewood mixed with wild sage. Justin looked through the bedrooms. Old metal-frame beds were covered with red Hudson’s Bay blankets. Back in the living room, he stood by the stone fireplace and examined an old buffalo skull over the mantel. Hanging in one corner of the room, above a wicker table, was a pair of beaded moccasins. “Those belonged to my grandmother,” Randy explained. “She was a friend of a Blackfoot artist named Two Horse. He gave them to her as a birth
day gift. Made by his wife.”

  Cara cooked dinner. She boiled corn and made a pie. While she was setting out plates, Justin went alone to his bedroom. It was the smallest room in the cabin, with a single bed, a sash window, and a wicker chair. He tapped in the number on his cell phone and sat on the bed, hunched over.

  “What? Okay, okay. You’ll be fine.”

  Justin rose. He turned so quickly Cara had no time to back out of the doorway, where she was standing in her apron. Justin covered the speaker part of the cell phone. “Cara! Please!”

  Cara ran towards the kitchen. A moment later, Justin appeared in the doorway by the stove. Cara lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to. . . .”

  “That was my mother,” Justin said, lying. Karen had been crying. She’d said she was afraid to be left alone. All she thought about was Justin and the baby. “She panics,” he went on, “when I go away. Ever since my dad died, she. . . .”

  Cara rushed to Justin and held him. He let himself be calmed by the warmth of her circling arms. “I’m okay,” he said to her, whispering in her ear. “She’ll be okay, too.” Cara pulled back. Her eyes and lips are beautiful, Justin thought. He leaned close and kissed her. When he looked into her face again, she was blushing. “How about some supper?” he said. Cara smiled and let go of his arms. Stepping backwards in the direction of the kitchen counter, she kept her eyes on Justin’s. She opened a cupboard, pulled out a brass bell, and rang it loudly.

  “Dinner, everyone.”

  She and Justin carried the platter of corn to the dining area. Randy had moved a table outside to a covered stone patio, where he and David Home were sitting in a couple of plastic lawn chairs, their bare feet up on stumps of wood, their right arms lifting bottles of pale ale.

  After supper, Randy suggested the crew get settled and prepare for the next day. By eleven, the cabin was quiet. Justin undressed and took a bath. He leaned back into the warm water. Through the wall, he could hear Randy’s voice rising and falling. He was on his cell phone, and he sounded angry. Justin leaned his head closer to the thin wooden partition. “Tomorrow. Yes, like we said, Sam. Don’t fuck with me.” Then a pause. Randy seemed to be punching in another number. His voice was softer now. All Justin heard were scattered words as if Randy were calming someone who was upset.