by Rick R. Reed
But the night had gotten too cold and Avery could think of nothing more than getting himself home and huddling down under the blankets, warm and secure once again.
Even if his friends never paid him much attention, Avery wished they were there to keep him company. Curling into a tight little ball, Avery stuck his thumb in his mouth. Usually, he had to find a way to turn away from the others before he could suck his thumb, but tonight’s advantage was that it didn’t matter.
Avery couldn’t sleep until he sucked his thumb. He justified his habit by looking at those around him: Miranda had her booze, Jimmy his cigarettes, War Zone and Little T their drugs, and Randy his memories. At least, he reasoned, sucking his thumb wasn’t going to kill him.
So why was his habit the one he felt most compelled to hide?
He tensed as he heard the screech of a cat outside. He was tempted to get up and see if he could coax it in so he wouldn’t be alone, but decided finally that the effort wasn’t worth it: the cat would be long gone and he’d no longer be drowsy by the time he got to the window, opened it, and searched the darkness outside for its feline form.
No. Sleep would come soon and see him through another day. It wasn’t the first Saturday night he’d spent alone here at the Chicken Arms and it probably wouldn’t be his last. The others probably all found tricks to take care of them this cold December night. And Randy? Who knew? He hadn’t been around for a couple days, perhaps he got tired of mothering them all and found himself a place. A little studio, maybe. Right. Something he could afford on his aluminum can income.
Randy was dying, Avery thought, as sleep began to work its woolen oblivion on him. Avery was the only one Randy had confided in about his HIV status and as Avery drifted off, he imagined, as he had many times, Randy moving toward him in the darkness to press close and infect him, sharing his own personal tragedy with Avery, who would gladly accept it.
Avery’s eyes closed. His thumb dropped out of his mouth.
*
There was someone in the room with him.
Avery awakened all at once, rubbing his eyes, trying to consciously will himself alert, make himself able to see in the pale orange light from the embers still glowing in the trash can.
There, in the corner…Avery tensed. A human form. He couldn’t quite discern whether the form was male or female.
Avery took in a quivering breath, telling himself not to be afraid: homeless people found the empty building an attractive place to stay, just as he and his friends had. The person sharing this space with him now was probably just as harmless as the lady on the corner of Thorndale and Sheridan, who ate imaginary oranges and called him her son when he went by. This person’s motive could be only to find shelter from the cold.
But why, then, did it seem to be hiding over there in the shadows? Why was it in here with him when there were hundreds of other empty rooms in the building?
Avery felt a line of sweat break out on his forehead. He didn’t want to do so much as open his eyes; he stared at the shadowy huddled form in the corner through slits. He tried to lie still, hoping that whoever was here to share his home with him didn’t realize he was awake and aware of the presence.
*
Dwight was glad he’d gotten Little T to tell him about the building where they all lived. It would make it so much easier to find the little boy slut, Jimmy Fels. Now, as he looked into the building from the sidewalk, he could see a faint glow coming from one of the windows.
“Go on in there and get it, boy,” Aunt Adele chided from somewhere above and to his left. “It’s not too late: you can still right the wrongs.”
He turned and thought he saw a fleeting image duck between some cars. A faint wind rushed back to him, bearing up the scent of Evening in Paris, his aunt’s favorite perfume.
Perhaps, Dwight thought, beginning his walk up to the front door hanging crookedly in the archway, Jimmy was in there right now and he’d have all the prey he needed to complete his mission. The others could wait for another savior.
Dwight looked down at his feet: black British Knight high tops. He was glad he’d worn them: they shielded his ankles from the slush in the gutters and the grey snow on the sidewalk. Besides, they were quiet.
So very, very quiet.
He came up the steps and slipped through the door. Stopping for a moment, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the gloom. He pulled the woolen muffler up over his nose to help block out the odors of mildew and rot. He visualized the window from which the pale orange light was coming and decided he needed to go left.
The door creaked a little as he opened it. Once inside the room, he hurried to a corner and crouched, where he hoped he could remain, undetected, until he could figure out what he was dealing with here.
In the corner opposite him, there was a large mound of coats, old clothes, and blankets. And beneath the mound, Dwight could just make out someone’s shape. Was it Jimmy? Or one of the others? Little T’s voice came back to him in all its breathless fear: “There’s Avery and Miranda. They live there, too.” That weak, desperate voice pleading, “But you won’t want to hurt them; they’re good kids.”
Right. Good kids like Jimmy and his other friends, already entombed in the dank comforts of his basement. Good kids don’t peddle their asses on the street.
It was impossible for Dwight to tell who was under the blankets. Whoever it was, he or she was lying very still.
Dwight, on his hands and knees, began to inch across the floor. The bare wood, even through his jeans, made his knees hurt. But the element of surprise had always served him well and he wanted this time to go quickly and quietly. He couldn’t be certain if there were more kids huddled under the blanket and he wanted to take no chances.
At last, he was close enough to discern features on the head poking out from under the pile. Dwight stared at it for a moment, holding his breath and coming in close.
This must be Avery. I can tell by the zits and the double chin. Big fat Avery…the one Little T had told him was so smart.
Bullshit. If he was so smart, what was he doing here, in a freezing condemned building, lying in rat shit? If he was so smart, why wasn’t he in school?
If he is so smart, why is he about to die a horrible, painful death at my hands?
Dwight sat, resting his arms on his knees, drawn up in front of him. I’ll wait, give the boy a chance to wake up.
Wouldn’t want to startle him, now would we? Not with the weight that kid’s carrying around. Might bring on a heart attack.
*
Avery lay still. The man (and he now knew it was a man) had moved close to him and sat, almost as if he was waiting for him to wake up. Avery could no longer swallow and his heart was pounding so loud he was sure the man must be able to hear it. He thought briefly of the Edgar Allan Poe story “The Tell-Tale Heart.”
What did he want? Was he the reason, Avery wondered, most of his friends had disappeared?
He longed to slide his thumb in his mouth, turn away from this creature who’d come to share his space.
But he couldn’t move.
Everything in him felt stiff, paralyzed. His spine ached with the effort he was making to lie so still.
What can I do? Avery envisioned himself rising up in a great rush and making a dash for the door. Or better: doing a quick roll to the window, standing and bursting through its cracked network of glass. It wasn’t a long drop to the ground below. What was the worst that could happen? A few cuts? Avery decided that would be his plan if this creep even tried to lay a finger on him.
If only I could move! Avery lay stiff, hardly able to breathe.
He knew as well as anybody that he was pushing three hundred pounds. He couldn’t make a dash for anything.
Now the guy was leaning close to him, close to his face, and Avery did all he could to hold in the shudder he felt rising up within him, did all he could to force down the scream that was in his throat.
The face
was weird, pale eyes too wide in the smudge of his face. Avery no longer dared peek. He shut his eyes, the man’s nearness pressing on him.
*
Dwight knew now the boy was awake. He lay too stiffly, and his breath was shallow. If the boy was really asleep, his breathing would be even and deep. On his back, he’d probably be snoring. And then there were the beads of sweat on his forehead, and the cracked, parched look of his lips… Dwight could feel his fear. And he used the fear to strengthen him. Aunt Adele would be proud.
He leaned forward and brushed a stray lock of hair away from the boy’s forehead. The hair was damp with sweat and Dwight could smell perspiration rising up from the kid.
Christ, these kids…they’re all filth.
The boy shuddered at his touch.
“Avery,” he said. “Avery, it’s time to get up.”
The boy opened his eyes, blinked. His mouth was open and Dwight could see his tongue was coated with a whitish fuzz. Disgusting.
The boy licked his lips and struggled to an upright position. “Who are you?”
Dwight said, “Just a guy lookin’ for a warm spot to spend the night. Do you mind?”
Avery looked him over warily. He shook his head. “No, no, I don’t mind. It’s happened before.” His gaze moved to the door, and Dwight wondered if he was thinking of escape.
Fat chance. Dwight snickered to himself. He scooted over and leaned against the wall, cringing at how cold and damp it felt, even through his coat.
*
Avery wasn’t sure what to do. Avery lay on his side, staring at the invader through slitted eyes. The man had given him enough room to get up and walk by him, but he knew to just try to run out of the room would doom him. Avery realized it would be easy for the guy to conceal a gun or a knife under the leather jacket he wore.
Avery imagined the two of them: a cat and a mouse locked in these positions for hours, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
Avery swallowed once more, his throat suddenly feeling smaller. He had to try something. He had to know if he really was in danger or if this situation was harmless. “Listen,” he said, “I gotta go to the bathroom. You won’t mess with anything while I’m outside, will you?”
“What do you mean, young man?” A smile.
The smile sent a chill along his spine, caused goose bumps to rise as he got up from the mound of bedding. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I just share this room with some of my friends and since I don’t know you… Well, I think you can understand.” Avery managed to get to his feet and started backing toward the door, his hand outstretched behind him to grab for the doorknob. Avery shook his head and produced a smile he knew that, at best, was sickly. “I’ll be right back,” he murmured.
He turned and started to hurry toward the door. The distance suddenly seemed so much longer than it had ever been and Avery felt so much heavier, like he couldn’t move.
Like a nightmare.
He had his hand on the doorknob and could still see, peripherally, the man sitting on the floor. Avery was beginning to think maybe he’d get away: he had the advantage now.
Just as he was opening the door, he heard the man say, “Hold it right there, son.”
Avery froze. The voice was deep and commanding, recalling a father he had tried very hard to forget.
He turned his head just a little, to look out of the corner of his eye. The man was holding a gun on him.
The gun was cocked. Avery knew what it could do to the back of his head, knew that his brains and blood would be splattered all over this room.
He turned to the man and met his gaze for the first time. “What do you want from me?” he whispered. “I have a little money, believe it or not. You’re welcome to that.”
“I don’t need your money.”
“What then?” Avery could barely find his voice, let alone rein in his thoughts, which were caroming in his mind, disorganized and full of terror.
“I want you to come with me. I want you to come and be with some of your friends.”
Avery’s stomach began to churn. He was afraid he was going to vomit. For a moment the floor of the room tilted, righted itself, tilted again. All of a sudden, the room seemed hot, the burnt smell of the fire cloying and sickening. Avery leaned against the wall, knowing that if he didn’t, he’d faint.
And he didn’t want to lose consciousness around this guy. Somehow, he had to get his wits back.
“What are you talking about?”
The man giggled. His giggle was high-pitched, incongruous coming from a man. The contrast filled Avery with horror. “Your friends. You know. Little T, War Zone, Julie, Randy, and Carlos. You know, don’t you, Avery?”
Avery bit his lower lip until he felt warmth in his mouth: his own blood. “I don’t have much to do with them,” he whimpered, hating himself for the betrayal. “I just share this room with them sometimes, that’s all.”
“Avery, Little T’s told me all about you. Cut the shit.”
The man stood up, keeping the gun on him all the while. As he approached, Avery found himself frozen in place. He was sure his heart was going to burst through his chest.
The man spoke calmly. “Listen, I want you to turn around, open the door, and march that fat ass right out into the cold. We’re going to walk for two blocks, west. My car is parked in the parking lot of Broadway Books, in the back. We’re just a father and son out for a late night stroll. If you’re lucky, we won’t see anybody.” The man poked the gun into the tender flesh below Avery’s ribs. Avery gasped. “You make any kind of move, anything at all, I’ll blow you away along with the unlucky sap you picked to get your message.” The man took Avery’s face in his hand and squeezed so hard Avery’s lips came together in a pucker. “You’re a bright boy, aren’t you? So I can depend on you to remember and follow those orders. Isn’t that right, Avery?”
He let go and Avery nodded, unable to put voice behind any words.
“Good. Let’s go.”
They started out. Avery’s mind raced. He had to think! He had to rein in the panic! But he found he could barely swallow and it took almost all of his concentration just to put one foot before the other and walk out of the apartment.
Just let him shoot you. You’ve got nothing to lose.
Even though Avery knew he had nothing to lose, he still frantically wanted to think of something, anything that could save him.
And it came to him: all at once.
He stopped. The guy nudged him in the back. The gun felt hard; Avery was sure he could feel the spot where the bullet would emerge. “Move it, kid. I wasn’t kidding.”
Avery turned, giving all his effort to put as much breath as he could behind his voice.
“Listen, I know where Miranda is.” Avery searched the man’s face for some clue that the upcoming proposition would interest him. The man lowered the gun just a little, met Avery’s eyes. “I could take you to her.”
The man’s mouth was set in a thin line. “Now why would you want to do that?”
And here it was easy for Avery to let his fear show, let his lower lip tremble and his eyes fill with tears. “I…I just don’t want to be alone.”
“And you’d put your friend in danger just for that?”
Avery couldn’t think. He repeated, letting the panic in him rise up and come out in his voice, high and desperate. “I just don’t want to be alone…sir.”
The man shook his head, and Avery thought that his idea had failed. But then the man asked, “So, where is she?”
Avery swallowed once more, his heartbeat slowing just a little with relief. He thought for a second, thinking of the most crowded Saturday night place he could. “Why, she’s at Super Powers. You know, the arcade. All the kids go there on Saturday nights.”
They stopped near the front door. Avery shivered as he felt a thin stream of air, ice-like, work its way through the cracks in the door.
“You know,” the man sai
d, “if I take you over there, you have to do everything I say.”
Avery began to answer, but the man cut him off.
“No. We can’t do it that way. My God, what kind of idiot do you think I am?”
Avery shook his head. “I don’t think you’re an idiot at all.” He lifted his hand to his mouth and bit his nail. “I’d stay in your car.”
The man laughed, then stopped abruptly. He began whispering, not so much to himself, but almost as if he were whispering to someone else standing there with them. Avery couldn’t make out any words. The man grew still.
“Maybe it could work,” the man said, looking not at Avery, but at the wall behind him. Avery turned and saw nothing more than a wall, cracked and rotting with mildew.
“Are you sure she’s there tonight? How do you know?”
“She told me.” Avery thought for a moment. “Besides, she always goes there on Saturday. She meets a guy she knows there.”
“Okay. But remember: you try anything funny and you’ll both wind up dead.”
*
Dwight latched the tailgate of the truck, double-checking the handle on the topper to make sure the fat kid couldn’t get out while he went into the arcade. He wiped his sweaty palms on his coat. “One more down,” he said to himself and sighed.
It hadn’t been easy getting fat boy to crawl into the back of the truck, but now he was in there, his hands and feet bound with clothesline. Let him sweat away a few pounds. It would be good for him.
Dwight went around to the front of the truck, the .357 an uncomfortable hardness against his hip. He was getting tired, but figured it wouldn’t be long until his plan was complete. He slid into the front seat, put the key in the ignition, and turned it.
The engine hummed to life.
Aunt Adele sat in the front seat. She looked over at him when he got in. Her hair looked like she had just given herself a new Lilt: tight corkscrews of hair covered her head. She wore her standard garb: a man’s flannel shirt, khakis, weejuns. She put down the edition of the Chicago Tribune she was reading, made a tsk sound, and shook her head. “Try not to screw this up, would ya?”
