Grogan's voice crackled with rage from below. "You're d-d-dead, asshole!"
Cary waited till he saw Grogan turn the corner at the bottom of the stairs before he tossed the remaining pots and pans into the basement. Grogan batted aside two of them, but a big skillet clipped the side of his head, sending him stumbling backward.
"Ow!" said Grogan. "Fuckin' asshole!"
Keep going! Don't let up!
As Grogan started up the stairs, Cary pitched a carton of milk at him. The carton exploded on impact, dousing Grogan with white liquid.
Cary followed it up with eggs...one, two, three of them, all bang on target.
"F-f-fucker!" Grogan swiped the worst of the eggy mess from his eyes and started pounding up the stairs, arms in front of him to catch whatever else dropped from above.
That was when Cary rolled the big pickle jar down the stairs. Grogan tripped on it and fell forward, crashing hard on his knees and elbows.
As he struggled to get to his feet, Cary whipped a carton of orange juice at him. Grogan batted it away with the angry force of a grizzly batting away a bee hive.
"D-dead!" he said, scrambling up another two stairs. "That's y-you!"
Cary pelted him with four more eggs, two at a time. He splattered a tomato right in Grogan's face, then followed it with the ground beef and leftover spaghetti...but Grogan kept coming. The bombardment slowed him down but didn't stop him.
He was just three stairs from the top when Cary beaned him in the head with the mayonnaise jar. Cary's pitch had a lot of heat behind it, and Grogan went down fast as a knocked-out boxer.
Finally.
I did it I did it I did it!
Cary slumped back against the wall almost as fast as Grogan had collapsed on the stairs. Twitching and shivering, he gulped down breaths like Kool-Aid on a summer day and stared at the motionless body of Blacksheep.
It would've been funny if things hadn't been so serious just then. Grogan, the self-made terror of the house, was covered with food slop from head to toe, oozing with eggs and tomato and spaghetti and milk and meat. He looked like he'd been on the losing side of a school cafeteria food fight or an exploding supermarket.
Now what?
Cary got back to his feet and went to the top of the stairs. "Celeste?" he said, calling out loud enough that his voice would be heard in the basement. "Paisley? Baron?"
Nobody answered. In fact, Cary didn't hear a sound from the basement at all.
What if they're already dead? What if I wasn't in time to save them?
He had to get down there. The trouble was, Grogan's body was blocking the stairs.
Maybe, he thought, if he just gave Grogan a push, the body would slide down out of the way.
Cary turned sideways and took hold of the rail along one wall with both hands. Gingerly, he lowered one foot to the top stair and shifted his weight to it, then brought his other foot down alongside it.
Next, he lowered a foot to the second stair. That was when his heart just about blew a hole through his chest.
Just as Cary was bringing down the other foot, Grogan made a grab for him.
Adrenaline burning in his bloodstream, Cary scrambled back up the stairs and out of reach...and Grogan followed. Cary slammed the door shut, but Grogan blasted it back open.
Oh my God oh my God oh my God.
Cary tried to sprint away, but Grogan caught hold of the back of his pajama top. "Asshole!" said Grogan. "F-Fuckin' asshole!"
Cary flung up his arms and twisted out of his pajama top, then made a grab for the big knife on the floor.
Before he could scoop it up, Grogan shoved him across the room. Cary slid to a stop against a cupboard, wincing as the handle jammed into the top of his spine.
He watched as Grogan picked up the knife and marched toward him.
"D-didyou think youcould k-kill me?" Grogan's fangs flashed as he slashed the knife through the air in front of him.
Cary looked to either side of Grogan, trying to pick which way to go when he made a run for it. Neither direction looked good.
"I thought you knew by n-now," said Grogan.
Suddenly, Cary leaped up and tried to dart around Grogan...only to end up spilled on the floor when Grogan stuck out a foot and tripped him.
"I'm in ch-charge here!" Grogan kicked Cary hard in the side, then lashed back his foot for another shot. "I always win!"
When the second kick landed, Cary rolled onto his side and curled up fetal style, facing away from Grogan. He couldn't hold back the scream when Grogan's third kick punched into his kidneys.
"Loser!" Grogan sounded louder and crazier with each passing moment. "Mother-fucking loser asshole pussy shithead!"
Then, suddenly, there was a sound like the crack of a baseball bat, and Grogan stopped talking. The next savage kick that Cary had been expecting never came.
He heard something crumple to the floor.
When Cary rolled over and looked up, even though it was dark in the kitchen, he could still clearly see E.Q. gazing down at him.
"Are you all right?" E.Q. was rubbing the knuckles of his right hand.
Cary guessed he'd used them to punch Grogan, who lay in a motionless sprawl at E.Q.'s feet.
"That depends." Cary felt like he was on the verge of crying like a baby. "Is the rest of the Nuclear Family all dead?"
E.Q.'s face stiffened. "Where are they?"
Cary started sobbing. "I tried to save them," he said. "I really, really tried."
E.Q. crouched down and put a hand on Cary's shoulder. "I know you did, son. I'm proud of you. You're a true Beacon." He squeezed Cary's shoulder. "Now tell me where your brother and sisters are."
*****
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Cresson, Pennsylvania, 1958
When E.Q. Beacon followed his father into the shop at the Magic Castle greenhouse, he saw that a stranger had Mary Anne Filigree by the throat.
E.Q. stopped and stared. It wasn't exactly the scene he'd expected to see.
The stranger was a bulldog of a man, short and stumpy and broad-shouldered. He might have been in his middle or late twenties, though it was hard to tell. He wore the grimy brown coveralls of a coal miner, and his face was blotched with soot.
His friend, who was a little older, looked more like a miner on his day off. He wore bluejeans and a red flannel shirt instead of brown coveralls. He was taller than the man who was choking Mary Anne, and almost as muscular. If his skin wasn't blotched with soot, it at least had soot down deep in the cracks and creases.
As soon as the door opened with the tinkle of a bell, both men turned to look at E.Q. and his father, Max. Mary Anne looked, too.
"Well now," said Max. "What have we here?" He smiled and strolled toward the men and Mary Anne as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.
The bulldog let go of Mary Anne's throat, but he made a point of leaving his hand up in the air. He glared at Max and then at E.Q. as if he were planning to come at them next.
"I hear there's a big sale at the greenhouse over in Ebensburg," said the bulldog. "Why don't you two go see for yourselves?"
As Max crossed the room, he glanced back over his shoulder at his son. The meaning of his quick nod was plain enough to E.Q.
Back me up, boy.
E.Q. was nervous, but he shuffled after his father, pretending to glance at some of the pots and gardening implements on the shelves along the way.
Max ambled right up to Mary Anne and had a look at her throat, tipping his head from one side to the other. "You all right?"
Mary Anne's smile was shaky as she rubbed her throat. "Things are a little slow today, actually." She had a petite build, just over five feet tall, with a little pug nose and black hair in a short poodle cut. She wore a beige sweater with three-quarter sleeves and red slacks. The pink chiffon scarf around her throat had been smudged and tangled by the bulldog's grimy hands.
As E.Q. approached, Mary Anne gave him a nod. He nodded back, feeling slightly embarrassed.
Mary Anne always made him feel uncomfortable, no matter how many times Max told him it was wrong.
E.Q. just couldn't help it. He was seventeen years old, and Mary Anne Filigree was the only transsexual he'd ever met. He'd never even heard of transsexuals until she'd moved to town and opened the Magic Castle a year ago.
The fact that his father insisted on dragging him out to buy plants at Mary Anne's greenhouse only made matters worse. E.Q.'s classmates saw him there sometimes and teased him mercilessly about being Mary Anne's boyfriend.
Not that E.Q. let them get away with it for long without a punch in the mouth...but if given the choice, he would gladly do without Mary Anne Filigree in his life.
That, of course, wasn't something he told his father. Max just wouldn't appreciate it.
Max was a true believer in doing the right thing, no matter how hard it might be.
"So, Mary Anne," said Max, turning to stare at the bulldog and his pal. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your guests?"
Mary Anne gestured at the bulldog. "This is Chuck Knave." Cocking her head to one side, she stared at Chuck's pal. "And your name is...?"
"Rudy." Chuck's pal's voice was oozing pure disgust as he said it.
"So what's with the choke, Chuck?" Max hiked a thumb in Mary Anne's direction. "She sell you some bum gladiolas?"
"'She?'" Chuck sneered. "Try 'it.'"
"This thing oughtta be in a freak show, not a flower shop," said Rudy.
"So what'd you say the problem was?" said Max, stroking his neat gray mustache.
E.Q. took a step closer to the group. He had a feeling that his father might need backup any moment now.
To the untrained eye, Max might look relaxed, slouching with his hands hanging loosely at his sides...but E.Q. knew better. He could tell from the way Max tilted his head and angled his feet that he was getting ready to lash out at Chuck and Rudy.
"The problem is, this freak should leave town," said Chuck. "It's dangerous."
Mary Anne sighed. "What he means is, he hit on me last night at Milo's."
"Shut up, freak!" said Chuck.
"He was plastered, Max. He's new in town, and his buddies thought it'd be funny to get him to make a pass at me." Mary Anne shook her head and looked like she felt sorry for him. "They sure thought it was hilarious."
Chuck was seething. "Yeah, hilarious. I've been in town a week, and everyone thinks I'm a faggot."
"Well, listen," said Max. He flashed E.Q. a look that let him know to get ready. "I'll bet it's not as bad as you think."
"Yeah it is," said Rudy. "It was all over town this morning. Guys're sayin' they won't work the mines with a faggot like Chuck on their crew."
"So what if they are?" said Max. "Kick their asses and they'll sing a different tune soon enough."
"Not if they kill him first," said Rudy, who seemed determined to fan the fire of Chuck's rage. "Kill him and make it look like an accident."
"I see." Max angled himself in between Chuck and Mary Anne, making the move look like it wasn't part of a well-thought-out strategy. "So your solution was to come out here and strangle Mary Anne? That'd get your honor back?"
Chuck leaned close to Max, glaring up into his eyes. "I think you and your boy oughtta mind your own business. Get in your car and go for a drive."
"Just let you murder her?" said Max.
"This thing don't count for murder," said Rudy. "It's no worse'n wringin' a chicken's neck."
"Wow," said Max. "That's an interesting point of view you got there, Rudy." Smiling, he put both hands on Chuck's shoulders and pushed him back a step. "I think you fellas need some help."
"If you wanna help kill it, we wouldn't say no," said Rudy.
Max tapped his forehead with an index finger. "Not the kind of help I was talking about," he said. "But hey, maybe those other folks could give you a hand."
Chuck frowned. "What other folks?"
"Those nuns from Mount Aloysius." Max bobbed his head in the general direction of the place. "They're on the way to help me pick out some flowers."
"You're fulla shit," said Rudy, staring at him through tightly slitted eyes.
"Ever hear of Sister Clotilda?" Max grinned and chuckled. "Or as the young ladies at the junior college call her, 'Sister Mary Bonebreaker.' She's the one who keeps the boys outta the girls' dorm rooms."
"He's fulla shit," Rudy told Chuck.
"She'd put you to shame, Chuck. I shit you not." Max pointed at the front door. "Why don't you ask her if she'll help kill this chicken? She oughtta be here any minute now."
"Bullshit!" said Rudy.
But Chuck thought it over. His eyes flicked from Max to Mary Anne to Rudy to the front door and back again.
As E.Q. watched, he realized it was the moment of decision. Everything that had happened since Chuck had made a pass at Mary Anne had been leading up to this.
If things went badly, it could change the lives of everyone in the room forever.
E.Q. held his breath.
Finally, Chuck shook his head. "Forget it."
Rudy exhaled loudly in disgust. "You pussy."
"I got better stuff to do with my time." Chuck shrugged and headed for the door.
Rudy threw around a glare of such intense, radiant hatred that E.Q. wobbled a little when it hit him. "Freak lovers," hissed Rudy, and then he followed Chuck's footsteps.
On the way to the door, Rudy made it a point to knock three clay pots off a shelf. Two of the pots smashed when they hit the floor.
"Whoops." Rudy turned and grinned. "Guess I better pay for those."
"Don't worry about it," said Chuck. The little bell jingled as he opened the front door. "We'll settle up later."
Rudy's grin turned into a wicked leer. "That's right," he said. "We'll come back later."
Then, he loped out after Chuck. They slammed the door and the bell tinkled in their wake, signaling that the danger had passed.
For now.
As soon as Chuck and Rudy raced off in their beat-to-hell-and-back pickup truck, Mary Anne whooshed out her breath and slumped against the cash register in relief. "Discount," she said, rubbing her temples. "Today you get a hundred percent discount on anything in the place."
"Thanks anyway." Max patted her shoulder and smiled. "Can I get you anything?"
"No no no," said Mary Anne, shaking her head...and then she nodded emphatically. "Chair. Tea. Ice pack. Shotgun."
Max pointed at a wrought iron chair in the far corner of the shop, and E.Q. dragged it over. As Mary Anne dropped down on it, she let out a fart that would have rivaled the best effort of a cow in the field for length and loudness.
Everyone started laughing at once.
"Oh my God." Mary Anne leaned forward, hands gripping her knees, and howled. "I can't help it I get nervous bowels!"
"That was a big one, all right," said Max.
Tears gushed down Mary Anne's face. "Can you imagine if I'd done that when they were here?"
"Oh, geez." Half-laughing, half-grimacing, Max fanned the air with both hands and ducked away from Mary Anne. "It's a smelly one, too!"
E.Q. caught a whiff and covered his nose and mouth with his hands. "My eyes are watering!"
"Knock it off, you guys!" Mary Anne wiped away tears...then winced. "Oh, that is bad!"
Max was still fanning the air. "The perfect end to a perfect day, right?"
"I'm kind of glad it happened," said Mary Anne, "'cause if I wasn't laughing right now, I'd be having a nervous breakdown right there!" She pointed at the floor. "I'm not kidding, either!"
*****
On the way home, E.Q. watched the Magic Castle greenhouse shrink in the rear window of Max's pickup.
"Do you think those guys will come back?" said E.Q.
Max nodded. "Mary Anne needs a guard dog, like I told her. Maybe more than one."
E.Q. turned around to face forward. "Doesn't she have a gun?"
"I don't know." Max shrugged. "Guns aren't always the answer, though. Take it from me
."
"What?" E.Q. scowled at his father. He hated when Max said cryptic things like that, referring to some kind of mysterious personal experience that he'd hint around about but never reveal. "How do you know?"
"Remind me to tell you about it sometime," said Max.
E.Q. sighed. He knew Max would never tell him. He didn't even bothering pressing the matter.
Instead, he decided to move on to something else that was on his mind.
"Why can't you ever just walk away?" said E.Q., watching Max's face for a reaction. "Just once."
Max met his gaze for an instant. "You know the answer to that. You tell me."
"Aw, c'mon." E.Q. rolled his eyes. "You know how people talk about that Mary Anne. You know they talk about you, too. You and her. Me and her, even."
"You know when you worry about that?" said Max. "When they stop talking and start doing."
Same old same old.
E.Q. cranked himself around so his back was to Max. For as long as he could remember, life with Max had been the same. The problem was, what had been fine when E.Q. had been a little kid was getting on his nerves now that he was seventeen.
He was tired of being the helper when Max stood up for a black man or a chinaman or crazy man or a pregnant girl without a husband. He was tired of running errands for old people and helping take care of lonely sick people. He was tired of doing without so Max could help the poor people on the wrong side of the tracks buy food or clothes or make the rent. He was tired of helping with the stray dogs and foster kids that Max and Olenka took in all the time.
And he was tired of being made fun of for hanging around people like Mary Anne Filigree.
Not that Max seemed to care. "Listen," he said. "Who would you rather be? The guy who hurts other people, or the guy who helps them?"
E.Q.'s voice was sarcastic. "What if when you help other people, you hurt yourself?"
Max laughed and ruffled E.Q.'s curly brown hair, which just annoyed E.Q. even more.
The Masked Family Page 15
