Penance

by Rick R. Reed

  Dwight felt a sharp throbbing pain in his temples and rubbed frantically at his forehead, finally slapping himself again and again, to end the pain. Enough, he thought and stood.

  *

  Avery had fallen into a fitful doze. He dreamed of fire, then awakened to darkness. He didn’t know which was worse.

  He heard footsteps and a fumbling outside his box. In a moment light flooded into its dark confines and Avery squinted up at Dwight and tried to smile.

  Dwight said, “How’d you like to be my helper? It just might save your life. I need to find Jimmy fast and I think you can help me do that.” “I can,” Avery said. “I can.”

  “Good. We need to start immediately.” Dwight knelt beside the box and began to untie Avery. He paused for a moment. “Remember, son, I’m not stupid.” He pulled out his gun and showed it to him. “This is also my helper. Remember that.”

  Avery smiled. “I promise, Mr. Morris, you won’t need it.”

  Chapter 26

  Now that he was alone there, Richard noticed how desolate the little room at the Chicken Arms was. All he could see when he was there with Jimmy was Jimmy; the room seemed to radiate his presence and endow it with a charm that Richard now knew, looking around, was never there.

  The windows, one boarded up and the other a network of cracks just waiting for a certain fate at a gust of wind, let in little of winter’s grey light. The old mattress, which occupied one corner, was heaped with tattered blankets and coats, some so dirty they stunk. Richard wondered about vermin. The floor was littered with soda and beer cans, wine bottles, wadded-up bags from fast-food places like McDonald’s and Burger King.

  Richard sat down in the middle of all this, wondering how these kids got by, how they even stayed healthy. When he exhaled, Richard could see his breath.

  Where could Jimmy be? Richard had hoped, as he hurried back to the building, that the boy would still be inside. He had half run, half walked Sheridan Road to Lawrence, practicing all the things he might say. He thought that if he worded things right, he could make Jimmy understand that his attraction for the boy was a force beyond his power or control, even though he fought with it on a daily basis. He thought of comparing his attraction to something the boy might understand, like alcoholism or drug addiction, telling him how compelling the feelings were. Maybe Jimmy would understand, he had hoped, that he hated his desires for the boy probably more than the boy himself did. And last, he wanted to explain to Jimmy that his love for him was pure, and that he really wanted to help him.

  But when he got inside the little apartment, there was no trace of Jimmy. Richard had wandered for a full fifteen minutes throughout the condemned building, looking in each room, hoping to find the boy, even though he knew it was hopeless. The other rooms were in worse shape than the one the kids occupied. Some had ceilings falling in, some sported walls alive with creeping mold. Others told tales of past lives in layers of peeling wallpaper.

  So now, he found himself sorting through the bedding and the garbage on the floor, hoping to find a clue to Jimmy’s whereabouts. But what he found was as anonymous as a garbage can picked at random anywhere in the city. There were no trappings of civilized life…no address books, mail, magazine subscriptions, telephone books, or even pieces of paper. This apartment was nothing more than a quick refuge from cold weather and colder lives, lived out in desperation on the streets. Functional and nothing more.

  Richard wondered if these kids, any of them, had any idea of what it meant to have a home.

  This, he thought, sweeping the room once more with his gaze, was nothing more than a “place to crash.” He closed the door behind him, although he couldn’t see much point in it: there was nothing to steal, no coldness the door would hold back.

  He walked down the hall, noticing how the afternoon sunlight slanted in through the front door hanging crookedly on its frame. He stopped for a moment, breathing in the mildew. Nature had triumphed over man’s created environment.

  He wished he had the time and the luxury to follow such philosophical thoughts to their conclusion (in a sermon he would speak of the enduring power of the sun’s light and how the works of man, no matter how grand they once were, eventually fall to ruin and decay), but lives hung in the balance.

  All at once, the vision of sunlight was obscured by tears that seemed to come from nowhere, welling up in his eyes and flowing over. “Lives hanging in the balance?” he wondered aloud, his voice echoing in the apartment building vestibule. “So what?” He leaned back against the wall, hurt and angry at his own impotence. What can I do? I’ve never taken the time to get to know these kids, other than when it was for my own lust. I know nothing about them. How pompous, how arrogant. Richard’s hands were clenched in rage… To think that their safety depended upon his intervention.

  Go on, he told himself. Go back to the safety of your sanctuary and preach to the masses gathered there. Most of those people, devout Catholics who took the time to attend Mass and get to know their priest, would never even imagine the kinds of problems these kids face every day. You’re out of your element, preacher man. Go home and play with toys more fitting your abilities.

  It was exactly this reasoning that made him want to go on. He hadn’t become a priest to minister to those comfortable in their faith, but to reach out to the ones who needed God.

  And reaching out might just begin at a place like Super Powers Arcade.

  *

  Richard knew he stuck out, incongruous, the moment he stepped into Super Powers Arcade. He could tell by how quiet the teenagers and their younger peers became when he entered. Their conversation had spilled out onto the street and now it was nothing more than murmurs, interspersed with the beeping, gongs, and bleeps of the games. How bad would the silence be if he had worn his clerical collar? Bad enough a man in his fifties came into the place.

  It didn’t take long, though, for the spirited voices to rise once more…for all the sounds to reach their old intensity. Richard reminded himself that an older man was really not such an uncommon sight in an arcade like this one. He wondered if Dwight had been here, if perhaps he had taken some of the missing kids from this very spot.

  Richard moved to a corner where he wouldn’t be so conspicuous, to observe. He was looking for someone young and innocent enough to talk to him, but someone who might also be streetwise enough to know what was going on and to give him a clue to Jimmy’s whereabouts.

  He even envisioned Jimmy himself, hunched over one of the electronic games, working his fears and frustrations into oblivion. Forgetfulness brought on at the touch of a button.

  But Jimmy wasn’t here, and Richard eyed the group of kids warily, wishing for the comfort of the rituals of Mass, greeting his parishioners afterward, preparing for the next Mass. He had always wanted to be the kind of priest who could develop a rapport with children just like the ones he found himself surrounded by now, but he realized, as he stood there alone and awkward in a corner, that he feared them. He didn’t know their language, never had, and his addiction, rather than bringing him close to them, had driven a wedge between them, distancing him from any real communication.

  Sex by itself could never really be called intimate.

  But time could be pushing Jimmy further and further away, sealing his and the others’ fate. There was no room here for shyness. Richard took a breath and walked over to a group of boys gathered around a miniature basketball game. The hoop was high above them, surrounded by white netting. The boys took turns trying to make baskets. He had never seen such intense concentration as they stooped and prepared for a shot: focusing in on the basket.

  “Excuse me, boys,” Richard said, hating himself for sounding like the older man he was.

  All three turned and looked at him, appraising. They were all around thirteen or fourteen, white, all wearing the same jean jackets and baseball caps. Richard noticed a crude red yin and yang drawn onto the back of each jacket.

  Their sc
owls at being interrupted were also identical.

  One boy, taller than the others, with curly black hair, a big nose, and a bad complexion, grinned at the others before speaking to Richard.

  “Yeah, what can we do for you?”

  “I was looking for someone.”

  “We ain’t seen nobody,” one of the other boys said, a chubby boy with dirty blond hair and a cigarette in his mouth.

  “Shut up, Kyle,” the taller boy said.

  Richard plunged forward, feeling his heart beat faster under their scrutiny. What’s wrong with you? They’re only boys. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I was looking for this boy, Jimmy Fels.”

  The tall kid’s expression relaxed, took on a knowing look. He nodded, a grin curling his lips up. “Well, I don’t think Jimmy’s around right now, but maybe I can help you, man.”

  Richard realized what was going on. “I need to find him because he might be in trouble.”

  “You some kind of cop, man?”

  “Shut up, Kyle. What kind of trouble?”

  Richard wasn’t sure what he should say. He had a feeling all of sudden that he’d never see Jimmy alive again. “There’s someone after him who wants to do him harm. I can help him.”

  The dark-haired boy snickered. “I’ll just bet you can.” He looked at his friends and they all laughed.

  “No, really, I don’t think you understand.”

  The dark-haired boy pushed his forefinger into Richard’s chest. “No, I don’t think you understand. I know what guys like you come down here for, especially when they’re sniffin’ around for someone like Jimmy. You want some dick, mister, you come to the right place. I’ll do you better than Jimmy ever could.”

  Richard stared at the floor.

  “What’s the matter?” the boy continued. “First time? Afraid to ask for it? Or you just sweet on Jimmy?” He snorted. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

  Richard began to walk away. If these boys knew anything, they would have spoken up by now. At least if they knew anything they wanted to share…

  The dark-haired boy grabbed him by the shoulder as he started away. “C’mon, man,” he whispered, getting up close to his ear, “I’ll suck you good.”

  Richard shrugged the boy away and turned to look at him. He felt like a hypocrite as he self-righteously said, “That’s not what I’m interested in.”

  “C’mon, man, you ain’t kiddin’ nobody. I seen you around.” He looked at Richard, the pleading apparent in his eyes. “I need the money. I need to eat.”

  “No,” Richard said, his voice hoarse, hurrying away.

  He bumped into the man before he even got ten feet away from the group.

  “Whoa! What’s your hurry, mister?”

  Richard stopped to appraise the man. He was a big, burly guy with reddish-brown hair and a handlebar mustache. He wore a brown uniform, kind of like the ones maintenance men wear. He was tall, peering down at him through tortoiseshell frame glasses.

  “Excuse me,” Richard said, edging by the man.

  “Listen: I work here. I’m the manager. Can I help you?”

  Richard was relieved: maybe now he’d get some answers. He stopped and turned toward the guy. He extended his hand. “My name’s Richard Grebb. I’m looking for a boy.”

  “I’m Kerry,” the man said, raising his eyebrows. “Looking for anyone in particular?”

  “Yes,” Richard hurried on. “As a matter of fact, I’m looking for a boy named Jimmy Fels. Do you know him?”

  Kerry’s face broke into a big smile. “Oh, yeah. A lot of people know Jimmy. Haven’t seen him in here for the past few days, but I might be able to help you hook up with him.”

  He gave Richard a knowing stare and his gaze made him uncomfortable. “Well, where do you suppose I might find him?”

  Kerry’s smile vanished. “First, I gotta ask: you a cop?”

  “No, no, I’m a priest…over at St. Cecilia’s.”

  Kerry said, “A priest? No kiddin’?” He shrugged. “I used to be a Catholic.” He shrugged again and said, almost to himself, “No skin off my nose.”

  “Can you help me?”

  “Probably. I help people out occasionally.” He grinned. “Sort of like a personnel agency…matching the right client with the right, um, employee.”

  Richard closed his eyes for a moment. Was it any wonder these kids turn to hustling? It was all around them. He was about to indignantly deny that he was looking for Jimmy for sex when he realized that such a denial would probably only serve to distance this man from him and he’d end up getting no further. He dug into his back pocket and let his hand rest there. “I suppose the client pays a sort of finder’s fee, would that be right?”

  “Correct.” The man was watching Richard’s hand.

  “What kind of guarantee comes with your matching service?”

  “Well, man…” Kerry scratched the back of his neck and looked around the room. “If I can’t fill your order as requested, I’ll find somebody else for you.” He thought for a moment and added, “Equal or better.”

  Richard’s stomach was turning. We’re standing here, bartering for children. Two grown men.

  “But I’m very particular. I need Fels.”

  The guy nodded. “You’re not alone. Talented boy.” He extended his hands and shrugged. “But I can only do so much. I can probably lead you to him, but I can’t guarantee it, mister. Take it or leave it.”

  Richard pulled out a twenty. “This enough?”

  The money disappeared into the man’s pocket so quickly it was almost as if it wasn’t there. “You need to go to this condemned building down by Lawrence and Kenmore. You’ll know it ’cause—”

  “Already been there.”

  Kerry rubbed his forehead. “Oh.” He thought for a minute. “Sometimes he goes to his ma’s. Her name’s Carla.” He smiled. “I’ve had a few dealings with her, too.

  “Tell me where she lives?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m gettin’ to it.” He thought for a minute. “She lives over on Kenmore, in one of them buildings by the Sovereign Hotel, the first one across and to the north. I don’t know the address.”

  “You sure she’s there?”

  “Would I lie?”

  Richard didn’t answer, but hurried out of the arcade.

  Chapter 27

  “Where’d you get the black eye, Carla?” Jimmy asked.

  Carla’s hair was hanging in dark strings over one side of her face. She was wearing the same quilted pink bathrobe she’d worn the last time he’d seen her. A cigarette butt, burnt to the filter, had extinguished between her yellowing fingers.

  She plopped down on the couch and threw her head back against it, staring up at the ceiling.

  Jimmy had thought he could come here for help. Think again. He walked over to his mother. “Tim do that to you?”

  His mother looked up at him, her eyes glassy. “Tim who?”

  Jimmy felt his knees go weak and sat down. He didn’t know how to deal with drunks. When Miranda had too much, he just left her alone.

  But he couldn’t leave his mother alone.

  Not when that creep had her address. Who knew when he’d show up here?

  And who knew what he’d do to a mother who claimed she didn’t know where her own son was?

  “You got that black eye somehow.”

  She reached up and touched the puffy yellowish-blue bruise. “Oh, this?” she said, her voice sounding ridiculously casual.

  “Yes,” Jimmy said. “Did someone beat you up again?” She waved him away, flapping her hand. “No, no, Jimmy, nothin’ like that.” She paused a moment, noticed the cigarette butt she was holding, and put it in an ashtray. With trembling fingers, she lit another cigarette and exhaled. “I walked into a door.”

  Jimmy rolled his eyes. “You’re drunker than I thought if you expect me to believe that.”

  “Who said I was drunk?” Carla sat up straighter fo
r a moment, then slumped back down.

  “I can smell the alcohol on your breath from across the room. Besides, you’re acting like a real asshole.”

  His mother stared at him. “Shouldn’t talk to your mother that way.”

  “And you shouldn’t be smashed at one o’clock on a Sunday afternoon.”

  “Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. I’m the parent around here.”

  Jimmy blew out an exasperated sigh. “Right. I forgot.”

  “You little shit.”

  The two sat in silence. Jimmy listened to his mother’s raspy breathing, stealing glances at her, amazed when he thought: She’s only thirty. He’d had tricks, forty and older, who were more youthful-looking.

  After a while, she closed her eyes. Jimmy watched her in silence and after a few minutes, the inevitable happened: her mouth dropped open and she began to snore.

  Jimmy lifted her legs up on the couch, then went to her bedroom and pulled a blanket from the bed. He covered his mother, brushing the hair out of her face. She opened her eyes for a moment and seemed to look right through him, then closed them again, turned over, and snored into the back side of the couch.

  Jimmy took off his shoes and sat Indian style on the floor, waiting for her to wake up. Maybe after a nap and a shower she’d be ready for what he had to tell her.

  He prayed that she didn’t sleep long because there might not be much time left.

  He traced a circle in the dust on the hardwood floor.

  There may be no time left.

  * * *

  Avery’s breathing seemed to come a little easier when the Chicken Arms came into view. The condemned building was the only place that had ever felt like home to him. As soon as the car stopped, he had an urge to get out and run to the door, imagining that Jimmy, Randy, War Zone, Little T, and Miranda were all inside, arguing or laughing.

  But he remembered the pistol Morris had tucked into the waistband of his sweatpants. Remembered the door handle on the inside of his door had been removed. He looked over at Morris, saw the intensity on his face.