Homo Superiors

by L. A. Fields

  “Do you feel better now?” he asks.

  Noah shrugs. Sort of, but not really. “Maybe a little bit relieved.”

  Ray snorts at the choice of word, but that’s something Noah likes about Ray: he can take his licks in good humor.

  “You’re still up for this aren’t you?” Ray asks. “I know it’s like, not the most fun you’ve ever had, but you won’t quit on me.”

  Noah shakes his head. “Wither thou goest, I will go.”

  “Okay. I’m going to lunch, wither thou goest for a burger with me?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Noah says, standing and moving before the answer can even reach his mouth. “And you mis-conjugated nearly everything you just said.”

  “I promise to talk about something we both find boring as shit, so it’s fair,” Ray says as they descend the stairs.

  “The weather?”

  “You’ll turn talking about weather into talking about birds somehow. How about books?”

  “You don’t read enough. Politics?”

  “Too close to law. How about our friends’ relationships and who will break up first?”

  “Your friends,” Noah corrects, “but yes, that sounds boring enough.”

  “There, you see that? We can accomplish anything when we work together, you and I.”

  “That didn’t last long, I already want you to shut up.”

  “Good luck getting what you want, I don’t think it’ll happen.”

  “That’s the problem with all your friends’ relationships right there,” Noah says as he locks the front door behind them and steps out into the most obnoxiously happy spring day. “They want what they can’t have, but no one’s honest enough to admit it.”

  When that observation makes Ray laugh, Noah finally starts to feel better.

  7

  THE DAY RAY TRUSTS THAT he’ll actually go through with taking a life is the day he finds his ride to the finish line. Some guy he knew from a study group that eventually stopped telling Ray when the meetings were (Ray did not take studying seriously and insisted on being a distraction) mentions to him when they pass each other at the registrar’s office that he and some buddies were going on a long camping trip near the Canadian border. Something about hiking trails, kayaking around the boundary waters, returning to nature. Ray lets this guy chatter about his fetish for flint lighters and dehydrated food for nearly half an hour, just so he can take in the opportunity that’s presenting itself to him: this kid has a car. His friends might have cars. Those cars will be unattended while they’re away camping. Those cars are not associated with himself or with Noah.

  “That sounds awesome,” Ray says to . . . Paul! That’s his name. “Like real survivalist mountain man stuff. Let me buy you a beer before you leave.” Paul agrees to that, and Ray means to get him that beer, but first he has to do some shopping. He needs a key impression thingy, and a cover story for getting access to Paul’s keys. He overnight orders a keychain—a perfect gift!

  But that’s not all he gets for this covert mission. The key impression kit is the least of it (apparently the container with the clay or silicon for the impression is called a ‘clam shell’—Noah will like that—and what a pearl it will contain). Get the impression, take it to a hardware store, have the key made, not a problem. Here’s the problem: which car does that key belong to, and where will it be when it when Ray needs it?

  Ray does research all night, and finds a GPS tracking device for a car, magnetic so he can slap it on the car’s frame without being noticed, with a long battery life and an ability to locate it through his phone. Now to execute the best idea Ray’s ever had, and attempt to answer every question Noah has before the guy even gets a chance to ask them. He sets up that beer meeting with Paul.

  Ray’s talent for talk has never served him better than it does this last Friday in April. He starts off with, “Tell me all about this trip, man, how’d you decide to do it?”

  He lets Paul say anything and everything he wants, moving his face into surprise and happiness shapes, listening all the while for any information he can use. They’re flying up to Maine and disembarking from there on their trek (so the car does stay here), and the dates specifically are May 10-25 (so that’s the window of opportunity; good weather for it). He buys Paul beer until the guy has to pee, and when he gets up for the bathroom, Ray finally goes into action.

  “Hey, leave your keys, I have a surprise for you.” Paul looks at him, dumb and confused, or maybe it’s just the backwards baseball hat that makes him look like that. “Trust me,” Ray says, “it’s a surprise, not a prank.” And Paul does trust him. Idiot.

  Ray gets two impressions of the car key first (two just in case one gets fucked up), hiding his task under the table of their booth. The key reveals it’s for a Ford of some sort, and Ray checks to see that the ridges are clear in both molds before he safely pockets the clam shells. Next he pulls out a carabineer keychain with a bunch of cutesy wilderness features on it and starts to attach this to the bundle. His furtive movements with his friend’s keys will look totally innocent now!

  “What are you doing?” Paul asks when he returns.

  “Getting outsmarted by a key ring,” Ray says. “There, I got you something for your trip.”

  Carabineer for mountain climbing or whatever, plus a thermometer, a compass, “and you know what that is, right?” Ray asks as Paul oohs and ahhs over his trinket. “That’s a bottle opener. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what to do with that.”

  Paul’s had enough beers to give Ray a hug over this gift. Ray finds this very satisfying; he can be anyone’s Casanova when he wants to be.

  One task left: get the tracker onto that vehicle. They walk out into the parking lot after drinking some responsible but sink-tasting bar water, and Ray goes into his last manipulation.

  “Sure you’re okay to drive?” Yes, Paul says he’s okay to drive.

  “What’s that you’re driving?” It’s a Ford Fusion. Ray’s heart starts to squirm as he looks at the back seat.

  “Do those seats fold down?” Yeah, you can almost crawl into the trunk from the back seat. Paul opens the back door and pulls down the seat to illustrate this. When Ray bends down to look, he palms the tracker onto the bottom of the car.

  “Hmm, this would be a terrible car to kidnap somebody with, they could jump right out at you!” Ray couldn’t resist.

  8

  NOAH TRIES TO POKE HOLES in Ray’s car theft idea, but none of them really hold up. It’s a horrible thing to admit, but Ray figured out a nice little plan, all things considered. He says maybe they should put a different license plate on it, but that’s easier to spot by the authorities than leaving it alone, Noah knows it himself. He says to Ray, what if the parking spot they take it from is in use when they come back? Because then Paul might suspect something, check the mileage? But even he isn’t that paranoid, and Noah’s met Paul; that kid probably forgets where he parked his car once a week. The trunk access is a really good idea, Ray can pick up the car wearing a lot of disguising clothing (the clothes they each wear that day will be burned anyway) and sunglasses and a hat. Minimize what they touch, wipe their prints, tarp in the trunk to put the body on . . . intellectually it all stands up, but it makes Noah’s knees weak with dread. He can’t name a sound reason to stop these wheels from rolling unless he cops to cowardice, and he can’t (won’t) do that. Ray assigns the third week in May as the date of the crime. By the second week in May, they’ve collected everything else they need, their supplies. Ray repeats the list several times, reassuring them both that it’s everything, they really have thought of everything.

  One: cash for the day in all small denominations so if they pass a toll, stop for food, need to buy something they forgot, they don’t leave a paper trail.

  Two: they’ve got many weapons that don’t necessarily look suspicious until they’re used to cause harm (a length of rope in case of strangulation, a heavy chisel with the blade taped up for bludgeoning, even a small syrin
ge to induce an air bubble into their victim—that’s Noah’s preferred method, but this is Ray’s thing, and he wants to take more action than that).

  Three: they’ve got letters printed up from that laptop they stole out of the ZBT house (they’ll take a hammer to the hard drive and throw the whole mess off a bridge . . . after).

  Four: a burner cell for phone calls to communicate the details of the ransom (the letters are purposefully vague to keep the cops out of the action as long as possible). The letters and phone calls will send the boy’s father on a relay with the money, ending with him tossing it from a train—Ray and Noah will collect it and flee before the cops can swarm, but that’s a whole other day’s list.

  Five: alibis prepared carefully so that they can never be confirmed or unconfirmed, saying they spent the day (together or apart depending on when they’re asked) in crowded places without surveillance. They’re ready. Ray is excited.

  “Let’s celebrate!” Ray demands on the Friday before the big week, clapping both hands on Noah’s face to guarantee he says yes. They will take the car around their neighborhood every day Monday through Thursday in between their obligations (Noah’s morning classes, Ray’s nightly social life) and wait for the first opportunity to snatch a boy on their list, or any boy like those. The ransom letter is addressed Dear Sir, so any boy with a wealthy father will do, as long as he separates from the flock and flies close enough to Ray’s grasp.

  They must eat, drink, and be merry, for come next week, somebody dies.

  They start drinking at the pub on campus, actually called The Pub, which causes Noah to explain the origin of the word and the nature of public houses in England. He does this once when sober, in an attempt to fill the awkward silence of what starts as a very tepid and doomed celebration while Ray digs a fingernail into a crack in the bar top, waiting for him to stop. Noah tells his story again when he is drunk, assuming Ray wasn’t listening the first time and getting into deeper detail, gesturing with his hands, which is a great indicator of his inebriation. Noah attempts to tell it a third time when he is so plastered that he doesn’t remember the first two tries. Ray does remember them, and slurs at Noah to shut the fuck up.

  They spend about four hours drinking and talking about anything but what they’re both thinking. The awkward stares and clear overhearing that start to happen once they’re so drunk they’re drawing attention eventually urge them to leave. They’ve been here a dozen times, but still manage to get turned around trying to find their way out of the hallway this campus pub is located in. The Pub tries to look old-timey; the linoleum and florescent lights and air ducts in the hallway do not. It’s like walking out of a stage set into the real, grimy, over-lit world. That divide doesn’t bother Noah very much tonight, that’s what enough alcohol and the right company can do for a person.

  They walk towards the train stop; they’re too drunk to wander between campus and home, especially at night when the South Side’s reputation asserts itself the strongest. Even so, as soon as they step off campus into the real world, a man is at the station’s entrance trying to panhandle them. Ray and Noah move past him and his swears at their disregard, through the stiles and up the stairs, where Ray starts giggling and panhandling the other people on the platform in imitation. Some move away from him, but a few others roll their eyes and shake their heads in mild amusement, like he’s their own weird nephew or something. Maybe that’s because there’s more light on the platform than below it, and light makes everyone feel safe. Maybe it’s the fact that Ray can’t even catch his breath through his laughter to seem in need. One person he bothers even helps Ray when he starts to overbalance near the tracks.

  “Hey, watch your friend,” the lady scolds to Noah. Noah collects Ray and puts them both on a bench.

  “You know,” Ray says after he regains his breath and looks around like he’s basking at this crumby Green Line stop, relishing it, “if I ever have to kill you, because you’ll be my only living witness after this and it’s the smart thing to do, I’ll probably push you into a train.”

  “I’ve felt you thinking about that more than once,” Noah says. “Your face is a lot more readable than you think it is.”

  “Then why do you ever let me stand behind you when a train approaches? You got a death wish?”

  Noah shrugs, and doesn’t answer, since Ray’s already gabbling on about something else. Ray’s the one with the death wish, Noah just likes to make him happy.

  9

  IT’S TUESDAY NIGHT, AND AS Ray reviews the last two days’ events, he finds reason to be optimistic about tomorrow.

  The first day out shopping for a victim was Monday, and he and Noah were both in agreement that there was no rush on Monday. They took turns driving, getting comfortable with the placement of the car’s buttons and levers, with the migration patterns of the kids from school to parks to homes on sidewalks and shortcuts. Noah had his birding binoculars with them, for back seat use only through the tinted windows. People would probably notice two guys scoping out a playground through binoculars and get all inquisitive. Monday was a peaceful little outing, full of promise. Plenty of boys they knew were out, plenty of boys they didn’t know were off by themselves here and there . . . eventually the right boy would find his way to them.

  Tuesday did not start out as low pressure as Monday. Ray definitely hoped that Tuesday could be the day, and Noah feared the same thing. It put some static between them. They argued about whether or not the radio should be on (Ray said why not, and Noah said any song they heard was just going to remind them of what they did this day, and Ray asked what was so bad about that, and Noah scoffed at him and looked longingly away and out the window). It was an uncomfortable ride after that disagreement, but they parted on okay terms. After a day of fruitless searching, they left the car on campus grounds and walked home together through the evening air.

  “The next rich kid we spot alone we have to take,” Ray told Noah. “There can’t be any hesitating. If not tomorrow, and if not Thursday, then we’ve lost our window and it’ll never happen.”

  “What a tragedy that would be,” Noah griped, and Ray just stared at him as they kept strolling. The longer Noah’s silence stretched, the more a profound disappointment started to well up in Ray, the sort of sorrow that is only felt when a person suspects the goodbye they’re saying might be the last one of its kind.

  Noah finally met Ray’s gaze, and nearly flinched from it.

  “Good grief, don’t look at me like that, you look like a kicked puppy.”

  “You really hope this doesn’t work out,” Ray told him. “You want to look back at this week and think ‘ha ha, so funny, that week I went joyriding for no reason,’ and you’d have no regrets.”

  “You say that like you’re giving me news I don’t already have,” Noah told him, fighting back in his sarcastic little way. It’s kind of bitchy, if Ray really thinks about it, the same way his mother wins fights, by aggressively surrendering.

  “If we get a real opportunity, and miss it because you drag your feet, I will never speak to you again.”

  “No dithering or shilly-shallying, I got it.”

  “Shilly-shall . . . ” Ray repeated in a daze of trying to interpret a term he may have never actually heard in his life. “I should really just kill you, it would save us both a lot of trouble.”

  “That is true,” Noah agreed with a sigh as they approached their splitting place. “Too bad you like me too much.”

  “Tomorrow or Thursday,” Ray said as sternly as possible. “I’m serious.”

  “Until then,” Noah said with a wave, and Ray waved back to show that he had no hard feelings . . . yet.

  Now Ray is sitting out on his roof, smoking cigarettes and drinking some cheap Canadian whiskey from a squeezy bottle with a crazy straw built into the cap, something he found in the back of a kitchen cabinet last year and keeps with his booze stash. It’s probably a leftover from his own boyhood. There’s not much that’s young in the house any
more, outside of Tommy, and that kid gets older every day, as one might expect. This could be the last night of Ray’s childhood, truly, and for someone who’s been forced to stay young and infantilized no matter what he did or how many responsibilities he took on, Ray is happy to drink a toast to its death. Down with kid stuff, up with crime! Cheers to that.

  He retreats back into his room when his cigarettes are gone and there’s nothing left to distract him from the night’s chill. He’ll keep drinking, stay busy, until he’s finally tired enough to sleep without patience. Lay out tomorrow’s outfit, take a shower, clean the taste of cigarettes out of his mouth because he hates waking up with it, lie down to fantasize about actually choking the life out of someone, and finally fall asleep in that position, with both hands behind his head, like a comfortable man in a hammock, on vacation and at peace.

  10

  IT DOESN’T TAKE HIS ILL-USED field glasses to tell that Noah feels sick on the morning of May twenty-first. It’s the first thing Ray says to him when he pulls out of the parking lot to where Noah is waiting just beyond view of the campus security cams. He gets out and hands Noah the keys and says, “You look like you want to puke.”

  Noah just nods and gets into the driver’s seat. That is true. It’s been true all week.

  Ray gets into the back seat, binoculars in his lap for a quick draw if he needs a closer look, and Noah drives in increasing circles around the school buildings as the bells ring and the kids disgorge and their packs thin out towards home.

  Ray keeps up a stream of color commentary as Noah chauffeurs him around, identifying kids and listing every single fact he knows about their families. Whenever they notice a kid moving alone, the boy suddenly turns a corner, or walks near some loitering adult, or checks a mailbox meaning he’s home (and courteous). Ray notices a kickball game forming as they begin their second pass through the school zone, this time driving east to west through the streets instead of circling. Noah parks the car under a shady tree so they can both scope in comfort from the edge of the park’s playing field. Ray fishes a sandwich baggie of trail mix out of his pocket and holds it between the two of them, offering. Noah snacks on the pretzels and peanuts, leaves the candy and fruit to Ray.