I arrived at Gina’s a few minutes earlier than predicted. At night, her neighborhood earned its seedy reputation. Men sat in upholstered chairs on their porches, smoking and watching the street. Their drags were long and menacing and made the cigarette tips glow a sickly orange. Cars moved slowly, as if they weren’t really going anywhere. They were nothing but steel wolves, out roaming.
Dogs were chained up next to rusted rebar and sheets of plywood and corrugated aluminum. They were mutts, but they all looked to be at least part German shepherd. The pathetic poster board Halloween decorations were here too, in even greater numbers than in my neighborhood. Some had been used to partially cover broken windows or missing shingles. I wondered if the homeowners would swap them out for Thanksgiving decorations as soon as the sun came up.
Cars were parked along the street and in the grass at Gina’s house. I didn’t have a lock, so I laid my bike down in the yard, flipped the plastic kiddie pool over it, and headed to the front door. Instead of a doorbell there were a few frayed wires sticking out of a ragged hole. The door was open a crack, so I pushed it all the way and stepped inside.
The party was nowhere near as wild as I’d expected. A group of five teenagers was lounging on a sectional, eating from bags of candy and watching a machete-wielding maniac on TV. Only a couple of them turned their glassy eyes to me. One cocked her chin, while the other shouted, “Someone’s li’l bro is here!”
Down a hall in the kitchen, another group was gathered around a card table. Stalks of smoke rose and flowered as music played from a small boombox on top of the fridge.
“You gotta be kiddin’ me!” Kyle stood up from the table and opened his arms. “Alistair Cleary, come for his vision quest.”
I took one step into the hall and stopped. I leaned against the wall and motioned for Kyle to meet me. After a day of running and riding and fighting, my body was ready to implode.
Kyle dropped his cigarette into a plastic cup and pushed past his friends. He strutted down the hall toward me, but when he saw my face, his fell. “What gives, buddy?”
“Hide me somewhere.”
“Come again?”
“I think I’m about to cry.”
* * *
There were no tears, but I sat hunched over on a race car bed fighting off the tremors in my chest. We were in Gina’s son’s room. From the toys on the floor—windups, simple puzzles, stuffed animals—I guessed the kid was three or four years old. He wasn’t there, though. It was only Kyle, and Kyle didn’t say a word. He sat on a wooden trunk and watched me.
The door opened and a young woman poked her head inside. “Everything cool?”
“Yeah,” Kyle said. “Give us a minute.”
The woman’s face was painted white like a skull, with dark rings around her eyes, black swaths across her nose, and crooked teeth drawn in over her lips. She had frizzy red hair with tall bangs and she was swirling a half-full beer bottle that she wore on the tip of her index finger. When she saw me sitting on the bed, she smiled widely. Her real teeth had a retainer bar over them.
“Are you Gina?” I asked.
“The one and only.”
“Thank you … for letting me … visit.” Each word came out more pathetic than the one before it, and I was sure that she would laugh at me.
But she didn’t. She stepped into the room and joined me on the bed. She wrapped an arm around me and replied, “Doors are always open here.”
“I think the kid needs some alone time,” Kyle explained. “Seems like he’s had a crap day.”
“She can stay,” I said. “Actually … I want her to stay.”
Gina rubbed my shoulder. Each of her fingers had a ring or two on it. “See that, Dwyer?” she said. “Little charmer likes me. Can I get you anything…?”
Kyle filled in the blank. “Alistair.”
“Alistair,” Gina echoed. “There’s a famous witch with that name. You spell it like he does?”
I had no idea who she was talking about. “The regular way,” I said.
She smiled again and sipped her beer and then set it on a plastic crate that did the duty of a nightstand. “We got juice, milk, soda, and adult beverages. Anything in the fridge is fair game. Whatever you want.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Her bone-white face lit up like she was at a surprise party. “Hear that, Dwyer? He called me ma’am! Stay forever if you want, big guy. Teach my son a thing or two about manners.”
“He’s good people,” Kyle said. “Always has been.”
It was the last thing I wanted to hear at that moment. “I’m not always good,” I shot back.
“Ooooo, polite and a bad boy,” Gina cooed. “Watch out, ladies.”
I pulled myself away from her grasp, puffed my shoulders up, and said, “I fought a kid today. Because he bad-mouthed my girlfriend.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Kyle said, and he leaned in to get a closer look at me. He must have seen a scratch or something else that met his approval, because he nodded and leaned back.
Gina grabbed her beer and raised it in a toast. “To gentlemen.”
She was drinking alone, but that didn’t seem to bother her. She took the remains down in a few gulps and set the empty back on the crate.
“This kid was saying terrible things,” I went on. “But that’s nothing compared to what her uncle has done. He’s a sick man.”
Gina paused. “What’s that?”
“My girlfriend’s uncle. He does … awful things.”
She didn’t open her mouth right away. Underneath her lips she was running her tongue back and forth, sending a wave across the skeletal teeth. When she did finally speak, it was with a soft anger. “What are you saying, Al?”
The day had poked a hole in me. As soon as I started talking, I couldn’t stop. “Her uncle. He’s a war veteran and he probably saw lots of stuff that messed up his brain. He’s from here, but he’s been gone for a long time, only just came home after traveling all around. Germany, I think. Pacific Northwest. Maybe Argentina. All over. I don’t know if he’s on drugs or into Satan or anything, but he’s got tattoos and black shirts and listens to heavy metal.”
“I got black shirts and sometimes I listen to metal,” Kyle said. “If I had the cash, I’d get a tattoo. Doesn’t say much about the man.”
“And he does things!” I snapped. “To kids! He goes from place to place and he … I don’t know what he does with them after, but … there might be a river. Rivers are important, I think. My girlfriend, his niece, she knows about it all. She knows the kids’ names, where they’re from. They’re regular kids who didn’t do anything, and he comes for them when they’re sleeping, and no one ever sees them again. And then there’s Fiona’s grandmother. She died, and I don’t know if it was a natural death or if … What I’m trying to say is that Fiona lives with this man and she knows what he does, and he knows that she knows, and I can’t do anything about it.” The tears finally arrived and, like the words, I couldn’t hold them back. “I can’t do anything about it. I can’t do anything.”
“You’re serious,” Kyle said softly.
Gina was quick to fish a tiny T-shirt from a mesh hamper next to the crate. As she handed it to me, she said, “It’ll be okay, big guy.”
The T-shirt was covered in dinosaur decals. Wiping my face with it felt a bit like running sandpaper over my skin, but for soaking up tears, it performed admirably. “Thank you,” I told her.
Gina waited until I set the T-shirt down to ask, “What I really need to know is where you heard all this stuff.”
“My girlfriend told me,” I said through my sniffles. “She makes up these crazy stories about some magical land and some monster called the Riverman. I don’t know if it’s the way she deals with it or what, but she’s basically told me about all the kids. There’s a newspaper article about one of the girls. She’s been gone for almost a year.”
“Holy crap.” Kyle ran his hands up and down his thighs like he was t
rying to warm them up.
“And this guy lives with the family?” Gina asked. “So her parents don’t suspect anything?”
“I wouldn’t think so.”
“Anyone told the cops?”
“The neighbor, Mrs. Carmine, she told the cops that she doesn’t trust him, but I don’t think she knows how bad he really is. I’m not sure there’s solid evidence.”
“So this is a bunch of speculating?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m sure. I’m sure. Any other option is crazy. Anything else doesn’t make sense.”
Kyle exhaled a long breath and stared at the hamper. Gina stood, and as she did, she picked up one of her son’s stuffed animals, a koala with a Matchbox car in its pouch. She tossed it to herself as she walked around the room.
“Laura Niles had this boyfriend, Clint, who hit her sometimes,” she said. “In front of her kids. Whenever he was angry and blind-drunk. She called the cops at first, but there was only so much they could do. Even if they arrested the sleaze, it’s not like he’d ever get convicted. No evidence, really. Her word against his. Laura threatened to leave him, and he threatened back, saying he’d do things to her kids. Disgusting things.
“One night when Laura couldn’t take it anymore, she put bleach in Clint’s glass instead of Absolut. Guy was so blasted that when she dared him to take it down in one gulp, he didn’t realize what he was drinking. Stomach got all tore up, and he was in the hospital for a month. He couldn’t remember what happened. And this time it was his word against hers. Like always, cops didn’t do a thing. So Laura took her kids and she left him there.
“These days Clint’s got a bag on his hip for a toilet, and you better believe he doesn’t go hitting and threatening any women, because no woman will have a thing to do with this leaky slime.”
“Karma,” Kyle said.
Gina stopped tossing the koala and held it under her arm. “It isn’t karma, Dwyer. It’s a woman looking out for herself and for her kids because no one else is looking out for them.”
“I’m looking out for my girlfriend,” I said.
“Are you?” she asked.
“I’m here asking for help.”
“While she’s at home with the perv?”
“Lay off,” Kyle said. “He’s being a stand-up guy. He cares about this chick.”
“I’m sure he does,” Gina said. “But this ‘chick’ has gotta care about herself, because Al ain’t always gonna be there.”
I wished I could always be there, but she was right, and my response came without hesitation, without the fear that I was overstepping the line. “I should probably get something for protection, then. Right?” I asked.
Gina raised her eyebrows and a shoulder and twisted her mouth into an expression that said There are worse ideas.
“Jeeeesus,” Kyle said. “You can’t be serious. You’re not talking about what I think you’re talking about?”
“What?” Gina said. “We’re talking about protection. Defending the innocent.”
“We’re talking about kids!”
“How old are you?” Gina asked me.
“Twelve.”
“And your girl?”
I paused. “Four … thir … around thirteen.”
“I was pregnant with Brody when I was fourteen. Had him when I was fifteen. These aren’t kids, Kyle.”
Kyle put his head in his hands and ran his fingers through his oily hair. When his hands reached the back of his neck, he massaged it and asked me, “Are you really serious about this?”
I nodded.
“And going to the cops ain’t gonna work?”
I shook my head.
“And does my brother know about this?”
“No.”
“And does anyone except your girl, and me, and Gina, and her koala bear know about this?”
“No one.”
Kyle kept massaging his neck as he bent it back and closed his eyes. “What about money?” he asked. “Do you have money?”
I had maybe fifteen dollars and a gift certificate to the Skylark. “Not really.”
“Well, I have money. So I tell you what we’re gonna do. Gina, is this something you can get?”
“I know a person,” she said.
Kyle lifted his head and looked at me. “Okay. Then I will buy this thing. I will hold on to it. And you and your girl will only see it if I decide you need to see—”
“If the girl is in danger, Kyle, then—”
“Gina! This is gonna be my money and my decision! If the chick’s in danger, then I’ll handle it!”
Kyle stood up. Gina took a step back. I stayed where I was.
“Chill out, man,” Gina said, her pupils widening, making her eyes even darker. “We’re all on the same side.”
“You don’t have a kid brother,” Kyle said.
“And you don’t have a kid,” Gina shot back.
I didn’t know enough about their relationship to guess what might happen next. All I knew was I didn’t have enough money and I really wanted this conversation to end.
“Let’s do it Kyle’s way,” I told them as I stood up and got ready to leave. “I want to do it Kyle’s way. And let’s do it soon.”
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 1
School the next day was awash with dispatches from the Battleground. There were skateboard chases, lip-locks behind toolsheds, close calls with the police. My tussle with Trevor didn’t make the front page, and I was determined to keep it that way. I knew it was best to avoid Trevor and Mike, at least for the foreseeable future.
And then there was Charlie.
Charlie returned to school like an astronaut from space. His shoulder supporting a bag that held his new laptop computer and his hands still wrapped in gauze, he walked into the cafeteria at lunch and Ken Wagner shouted, “Captain Catpoop!” But it was a triumphant shout—a hero’s shout—and Charlie seized upon it. He spun his hands, threw his arms out like wings, and bowed low. The laptop bag scraped against the ground.
“Sorry, everyone,” he announced. “No more high fives. High twos. Maybe threes.”
There were laughs, some awkward, some genuine. Far too many in my mind, but my mind was in another place.
As Charlie found a seat with some kids who would have never spoken to him during his ten-fingered days, I roamed around the circular tables. Fay-Renee and Kendra, huddled together and playing a game of cat’s cradle, shot me daggers as I passed them, so I headed to the periphery, hoping for a place where I could fade into the walls. That’s where I found Fiona.
She sat alone at a long table eating yogurt and an apple. Our eyes met, and it was like I was looking at a new person, or maybe she was looking at a new person. In any case, things felt different. She pulled out a chair for me.
“Long time no see,” she said.
“How you been?” I asked.
“Not bad. Skipped out on Halloween. Not really into that scene anymore.”
“Your family?”
“They’re fine. Taking it day by day.” She brushed hair away from her face and looked out into the cafeteria. “Your ol’ pal Charlie makes quite an entrance.”
“Yeah, well … he’s a celebrity now. Speaking of friends, why aren’t you sitting with yours?”
Fiona shrugged. “On a break from them for a while. Running out of things to talk about.”
It seemed a bit harsh, but I knew that girls could be fickle, so I nodded like I understood. Then I took my lunch out of the bag and lined it up in front of me. Oatmeal cookies. Orange. PB&J. None of it was particularly appealing, and one by one I placed them all back in the bag. “You wanna go to dinner?” I finally blurted out.
Fiona pointed to her yogurt. “Looks like we’re already going to lunch.”
“No,” I said. “Like out to dinner. At a restaurant. The Skylark.”
She considered it for a moment. “I wouldn’t be opposed to such a thing.”
“Tonight. Let’s do it tonight. Six thirty. The Skylark.”
> “Why tonight?”
“Because we can’t wait any longer.” Before she had a chance to back out, I pulled one of her tricks. I scooped up my lunch and walked away.
* * *
Out on the floor and at the counter in the Skylark, the waitresses and customers kept things at a squawky din, but in the back booths where it was deep and comfortable, conversations could be private. I arrived early and opted for a back booth.
“We’ll be needing two menus,” I told the hostess, and she winked her approval.
Hands folded in my lap, I waited. I read the menu about three or four times even though I knew what I was going to order—my Skylark standard: a turkey club. I gazed across the restaurant through the wall of windows to the parking lot. There were half a dozen cars there, and I decided to occupy myself by memorizing as many license plates as possible.
CAZ1303 … CAZ1303 … CAZ1303 … CAZ1303 … MAN—
My concentration shattered as soon as Fiona coasted by. She slowed near the windows, moved her legs to the side, and hopped off while her bike was still moving, landing midstride and keeping her hands on the grips. After she guided the bike into the rack, she took a moment to straighten her clothes, then her hair, running her fingers through it while using a window as a mirror. She stood there for a few seconds, talking to herself. I couldn’t read her lips, but the words seemed hurried. She took a deep breath and turned to the door.
The hostess showed Fiona to our booth, and I greeted her by standing and shaking her hand. I regretted it immediately, but Fiona smiled, and I realized that this was the first time since we were kids that I’d held her hand. Her fingers felt so slight.
“Nice to see you, Alistair.”
“And you.”
Fiona was wearing a denim skirt and white leggings. Her sweater was purple with little white diamond designs and it puffed at the shoulders. It wasn’t as dressy as what she wore to the wake, but it was certainly dressier than what I had on. Jeans. Sweatshirt. Sneakers. I sat down so she wouldn’t notice.
The Riverman (The Riverman Trilogy) Page 14
