by Rick R. Reed
She sat on the bed to pull on the navy-blue pumps: low-heeled and sensible, she hadn’t worn them since she was a secretary downtown at Leo Burnett. How many years ago had that been? Jimmy was just a baby.
And he was still just a baby. But she couldn’t think like that: not now. There wasn’t time. She stood and forced her swollen feet into her shoes.
She headed back to the living room. “Okay, Jimmy. Let’s go. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll do all the talking.” She was halfway into the living room before she realized it was empty.
“Jimmy?” It was only a few steps to the kitchen and she found, as she expected, that it was empty, too. Carla went to the sink and grasped the edges of it tightly, her knuckles going white. She lowered her head, feeling the frustration and fear wash over her like a wave. She grabbed a dish that was draining in a rack, turned, and flung it against the wall. Its shattering gave her no satisfaction and she grabbed another one and did the same thing. “Goddamm it, Jimmy!” she cried into the empty apartment, sinking down to the floor. “Why couldn’t you let me be your mother? Just this once, Jimmy, just this once!”
She began to sob. She wanted a drink bad, but wondered if maybe, just maybe, if she hurried, she could catch him. She envisioned him walking north up Kenmore.
And then saw a man, big, jump out of the shadows between two buildings to scoop him up and carry him away, screaming.
And very likely, that could have happened. And it would be all my fault for not having been there. Not just today, but every day since the poor kid had been born.
She got up and headed back toward the living room, where she knew the bottle of Wolfschmidt still rested on the windowsill. You know, you still need to get to the police, a voice chided in the back of her mind. And Carla believed she would, just as soon as she had just one drink…to fortify her.
She splashed the vodka into the same tumbler she’d been using for the past three days. The glass was dull with film, but it didn’t matter. She held the glass up to the fading light of day. The booze was still clear, like water. She downed the vodka in one swallow.
She splashed a little more into the glass, “Just for good measure,” she told herself, kicked off her shoes, and sat down. She’d take this one a little slower, savor it. That way she’d be in control of herself and calm when she visited the police station. How else would she be able to spill out her son’s story if she didn’t calm her nerves a little before she left?
The buzzer sounding in the apartment startled her. She sat up, more alert, as it sounded again. A smile crossed her features and she thought: Jimmy. Quickly, Carla crossed to the button that would admit him, pressed it, then hurried into the kitchen. She rinsed out her glass and left it in the sink. With her stockinged foot, she gingerly pushed the broken dishes under a butcher’s block table in one corner.
She’d clean it up later.
She was slipping her shoes back on when the knock came. Not bothering with the peephole, Carla rushed to the door and flung it open, smiling, so happy that her boy had come back to let his mother take care of him.
But it wasn’t Jimmy who stood there waiting for her.
She cocked her head. “Avery. What are you doing here?”
*
Avery didn’t want to do it. Even though Morris was right around the corner, the gun in his hand. How could doing this help Jimmy? Or help any of them?
He wished there was a way he could warn her. Wished he could say, “Listen: this is a setup. There’s a very sick man out here who wants to use you as bait to lure your son.”
But he couldn’t.
They’d both die.
He was thinking they’d both probably die anyway. But as long as there was even a little hope…“I need to talk to you.”
Carla looked confused as she opened the door a little wider. “Sure, honey. You wanna come in?”
Avery looked around, up and down the hallway, hoping his panic wasn’t showing. “No, right here’ll be fine.”
Carla grabbed his hand. “You know anything about Jimmy? He was just here and he disappeared.”
Avery shook his head. His breath came a little more rapidly. Please…just let me get through this. “Listen: he’s in trouble.”
Carla nodded, her eyes getting bigger. “I know. I know. He was here today and he told me all about it.” She stopped suddenly, as if something had just occurred to her. “Wait a minute. He thought you’d turned up missing, too. I guess you’re okay…huh?”
Avery realized she must know everything and told her: “I got away. I managed to escape. This guy”—at this point, Avery almost blurted out his name—”is after Jimmy.”
“I know, honey, I know.” Carla’s eyes were glassy with tears. “We gotta help him. I was just gonna go down to the police. You wanna come with me? I know they’ll get right on it if you tell them what happened to you.”
Avery shook his head. “We can’t do that, ma’am. There isn’t time.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean this guy’s gonna kill us all before tomorrow. Just as soon as he finds Jimmy.”
Carla’s face went paler; there was no light left in her eyes. “This can’t be happening,” she whispered. “Well, what are we gonna do?”
“You have to come with me, okay? I know where the guy lives and you can help save everybody else. We can call the police when we get near there.”
Carla nodded eagerly. “Okay. Okay, just let me grab a coat.” Carla disappeared for a moment. When she came back, she was buttoning a black and white tweed coat, her face shadowed with worry. “Ain’t this all terrible?” she said.
“It sure is.” Avery stepped back to let her exit. He wished again there were something he could do to stop this.
*
Carla had only met Avery once before and at the time wondered why Jimmy needed to have such unappealing friends.
Now she was grateful for his help.
She stepped into the hallway and her breath rushed in.
There was a man there, slight, with dark, thinning hair. He was holding a gun. As he came toward her, Carla screamed and jumped back into the apartment, slamming the door behind her.
She shoved against the door, her breath coming in jerks as the man pushed and pounded against the door. Carla struggled to turn the dead bolt, her muscles jolting awake for the first time in years. The door had become like a living thing, bucking against her. As her fingers at last turned the bolt, a blow from outside sent the door flying inward, ensuring the bolt didn’t get into its slot.
She heard a loud grunt outside and then, before she knew what was happening, the door crashed in toward her. Carla stumbled back.
The man careened into the room from the force of his shoving. His pale eyes were ablaze with rage. Quickly, before Carla had a chance to move, the man had grabbed a pistol from his waistband and Avery by his shirt collar, thrusting the boy in front of him.
“My God.” Carla staggered backward, one hand behind her reaching for something, anything, with which to defend herself.
There was nothing but air.
“What do you want?” Carla’s heart pounded painfully in her chest. The man slammed the door behind him. As he did so, Carla bolted for the bedroom. There was a lock on the doorknob there and a telephone. If she could just have the time to press 911, someone could trace the call, find her, and end this insanity.
She managed to make it to the threshold of the bedroom before the guy yanked her back by her hair. She screamed, “Somebody, please! Help me.”
Surely someone in the building would hear and call for help.
“You worthless cunt.” The man clamped his hand over her mouth. He got up close so he could whisper in her ear.
* * *
Only after a while did Avery realize he was shaking.
He was torn in two,wanting to help Jimmy’s mother but at the same time wanting to use the distraction to make a break for it, to run wildly int
o the streets, screaming for help.
But he was too petrified to make a decision.
Carla’s eyes grew large as she struggled under Morris’s grasp. Her legs were splayed in front of her, the knees bent awkwardly as she pulled from side to side, trying to slide out from under Morris’s grip on her throat. Each movement forward pulled his grip tighter around her throat. Her nails, yellowed and long, dug into his arms, yanking and clawing.
Morris was unfazed.
“Listen, bitch, you’re gonna come peacefully with us,” he whispered, “or I’ll shove the barrel of this gun right up your cunt and fire.” He jerked her head violently to one side. There was a snapping sound and Carla closed her eyes tight with pain. “You got that?”
Carla nodded.
Morris removed his hand from her mouth. “Tell me.”
Carla took a while to catch her breath. “What?”
“Tell me you understand.”
“I understand.”
The woman’s eyes looked glazed; her mouth was open, slack. She was white and her skin was shiny with a thin veneer of perspiration.
“Good,” Morris said. “There won’t be any more screaming then?”
“Oh, no,” Carla managed to get out, hoarse. Her breathing was ragged.
Avery wanted to go to her and tell her that somehow they’d get out of this: it was two against one now. They had to remain calm and think, keep thinking. But he could say nothing to her. Instead, he tried to make eye contact, show his sympathy.
When their eyes met, she looked away in disgust and Avery realized she must think he was in on this. The thought made his stomach turn.
Morris put his hand on her shoulder, moving Carla in front of him. “You’re going to stay right in front of me, Mrs. Fels, or is it Miss? Don’t answer: I’m sure I know, Miss Fels. You’ll stay in front of me because I can’t trust you. We’re going to walk out of this shithole of a building and down to my truck. You will not look at anyone; you will not speak to anyone. Do you understand?”
Carla said yes. There was no expression in her voice. Her limbs seemed to have become infused with a kind of limpness that made her movements mechanical.
Avery walked alongside Morris as he moved toward the door. “Miss Fels, do you happen to know where I might find your little bastard?”
Carla shook her head. A wisp of hair had fallen across her face and she did nothing to push it away. Avery longed to reach out and pull it back.
“Not that you’d tell me. Perhaps, in the car, I can tell you a few things about your boy.” Morris laughed. “About how I fucked his sweet little ass.”
Carla’s knees went limp and she crumpled to the floor. Morris kicked her. “Get up.”
She grabbed the wall for support and struggled to stand. Avery reached out to help her. Morris put the gun on his wrist. “Let her do it herself.”
Avery stepped back and watched as Carla climbed to a standing position. Morris opened the door. “Remember what I said.”
The three exited the apartment into the hallway. Avery wondered how this day would end. Would any of them, except for Morris, see tomorrow? He thought about the people behind the doors they passed, thought about their lives: they were probably inside, watching football games on TV, making Sunday dinner, with absolutely no thought to the horror that was right now passing by their doors.
He longed to be inside with them, to have nothing more to worry about than what he would eat that evening.
They moved toward the stairs rather than the elevator. Morris said, “We’ll walk. That way we’ll run into fewer people.” The exit sign above the stairwell door was burnt out. Carla pushed through the door first. The stairwell itself was dark and musty: there was no air. The concrete stairs and metal railings were both painted the same dull grey.
As they began to descend, Carla turned to Morris. “What do you wanna do this for, huh?”
“Shut up and just keep movin’.”
Carla shouted, “No, you shut up!” She shoved Morris and he went down. In one quick motion, she yanked the gun from his hand. Avery couldn’t believe it: Morris pushed to the floor, the shocked expression on his face.
Carla’s expression was one of shock, too. For an instant she looked at the gun in her hands, as if she wondered how it got there. And then, with trembling hands, she leveled the gun at Morris. “Now, you son of a bitch, now you’ll dance to my tune.”
“Put that down. You don’t know how to use it.” Morris backed away from her, the expression on his face belying the calmness of his words. He looked scared. “I guess you’ve got me. Anyone can pull a trigger, I suppose.”
“That’s right,” Carla said. “Damn right. Now you walk in front of me, mister.” Carla’s voice broke and quivered.
The three started down the stairs. “When we get to the bottom, I’m gonna call the cops from the lobby. There’s a phone there.” Jimmy’s mother looked frantic; her face was beaded with sweat. Her eyes were moving too quickly, trying to take in everything at once.
What was she thinking? Where had she even found the courage to do what she’d done?
“Your son is the one who should be behind bars, Miss Fels,” Morris said, making his way down the stairs. “If it weren’t for him, none of us would be in this mess.”
“I don’t want to hear it. Just walk.”
Morris continued anyway. “If he weren’t out there peddling his ass on the streets, I never would have run into him and none of this would be happening. Why does he have to do that, Miss Fels? Hmmm?”
“One more word outta you and I’m gonna be forced to use this.”
Avery noticed her tone didn’t match her words. The words were tough but her voice trembled. Morris, on the other hand, seemed all too calm for the mess he was in. His words were measured and thoughtful.
“You certainly couldn’t have been doing much of a job as a mother. Why, on the night I picked him up, he was eager to suck my cock…just so he could make a little money to get something to eat. Isn’t it a mother’s duty to provide food for a thirteen-year-old boy?”
Carla had begun to cry.
“Jimmy’s well known on the streets around here, miss. Did you know that? He’s the boy they say will do just about anything…if the price is right. Tell me, Miss Fels, how would such a little tyke get so wise so young? Where were you?”
Carla stopped to wipe the tears from her eyes.
Morris whirled around and, with his hands clenched together in one big fist, belted Carla across the face.
Avery jumped aside as she fell back onto the stairs. Her head thumped against the back of a concrete step. Avery winced at the sickening sound. The gun clattered down some stairs and Morris, moving quickly, retrieved it before Avery even had a chance to think.
Carla lay still. A thin stream of blood trickled from her ear. Morris bent down close. “Don’t tell me the little bitch hit her head so hard that she’s dead. We need her.”
He took her thin arm in his hand and felt up and down for a pulse. He looked up at Avery. “She’s alive. But goddammit, how are we to get her out of here?”
Just then, a door far above them squeaked open. A woman’s voice floated down the stairwell to them. “And then she says to him, ‘Well, if you ain’t got time enough for your own son, I ain’t got time enough for you.’ “
Morris looked up in panic at the sound of the voices, then to Avery, as if Avery would provide him with an answer.
He stood and aimed the gun at Avery. “Don’t say a word,” he whispered. “We’ve gotta get out of here. And fast. You first.”
Avery was frozen beside Carla, overloaded by all that had happened.
The gun poked him in the back. “Move.”
Avery hurried down the steps. He wondered what the women would think when they found Carla sprawled on the stairs, wondered if they’d think she was merely drunk or if they’d notice the blood and take care of her.
Just as they reache
d the bottom, Avery heard one of the women gasp. “Oh, my Lord,” she was saying, “what do you think could’ve happened to her?”
And as they opened the fire door into the alley, he heard the other woman, distant, yet clear: “Oh, don’t worry about that one, hon. She’s the biggest rummy in the building. Just leave her alone and let her sleep it off right there.”
The sound of their clicking footsteps was cut off when Morris pushed him out into the cold air of the alley.
Chapter 29
As the sun set, the streets grew colder and colder. Mounds of dirty grey snow that had begun to melt under the sun’s intensity had crusted over with ice; puddles that earlier splashed up when Jimmy stepped in them now presented slippery hazards.
A wind, fresh off the lake, had blown up. The snot in his nose crackled and his skin felt raw and itchy.
The plan was to get out of Chicago by nightfall. Jimmy thought he would head out toward 94, stick out his thumb and just begin heading north, maybe up to Milwaukee. He could lose himself there, at least for a while. Milwaukee wasn’t as big as Chicago, but Jimmy knew his boyish good looks would trade just as well there as here. The thought that he would be exposing himself to the same risks barely occurred to him. After all, how likely were such things to happen to a person twice in a lifetime, let alone a month? Besides, Jeffrey Dahmer, the man he had heard of who killed boys like himself (and ate them), was safely locked away.
Why wasn’t Dwight behind bars? How could guys like him get away with what they were doing?
But now, as he headed east along Lawrence Avenue, he remembered his friends, especially Miranda, and wondered if they were still alive. None of them, for all their streetwise ways, were smart enough to protect themselves from a monster like Dwight.
And then there was Carla, alone and drunk in her apartment. How could he have left her? She needed him to take care of her. As far back as he could remember, men had abused his mother. More than once, she’d had the bruises, cuts, and burns to show for “falling in love” again. And he had always been the one left to clean up the mess after the men had left her. Even as a four-year-old, Jimmy would hold his mother as she cried, his small hand moving in circles on her back as he whispered, “Shh, Mommy. Things are gonna be all right.”
