The Nearness of You

by Dorothy Garlock

  He sprinted down the sidewalk, then cut a corner beneath an elm tree, moving so fast that the bare branches rustled in the wake of his passage. Only a few seconds had passed sine he’d first heard Daisy bark, but now the sound rang out again and again, growing louder as he neared, like a fireman’s siren in the still of the late hour. Boone’s mind raced with every step. What was happening? He pushed himself faster and faster, determined to know.

  Finally, he rounded the tall row of hedges that separated Marjorie from her neighbors. Boone skidded to a stop, nearly slipping on the wet grass. The door to his and Clive’s room stood open, a bright light shining from within. It took Boone a moment to realize that someone was crumpled on the floor just inside the door, moaning softly. Then, as he watched, a figure stepped into the light, a dark silhouette from which he could make out no details other than that the stranger held something in his hand. Whoever it was, they quickly noticed Boone. Almost immediately, the intruder darted off toward the rear of the property.

  Like a shot, Boone followed. “Hey, wait!” he shouted.

  Sprinting across the driveway, Boone was confident that he would quickly catch his unidentified quarry. He’d have answers for what was happening, even if he had to use his fists to get them.

  But even before he reached the backyard, Boone heard Daisy growl, a deep, guttural sound that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Squinting though the inky darkness, he saw her. The Lab was snapping and snarling at another figure, someone who had their hands raised and was quickly backing away from the dog. But the person wasn’t fast enough. Boone saw Daisy tense, then lunge. The night was split by a man’s pained shout.

  “Goddamn mutt!” he cried, then kicked out, catching the dog in the ribs, making her yip and slink away.

  Boone’s anger flared as hot and sure as a match dropped into a puddle of gasoline. Overcome with rage, he made a beeline for the man who’d hurt his dog, wanting to return Daisy’s pain a dozen times over. But his fury made him blind. Before Boone had taken more than a couple of steps, he saw something off to his side, then a fist was driven into his stomach, forcing the air from his lungs and dropping him to his knees. Writhing in agony, he realized that it must’ve been the figure he had initially pursued, the one he’d seen leaving the rented room.

  And now he and Daisy were both down and at the mercy of their mysterious assailants.

  But just as Boone struggled to one knee, he heard the unmistakable rise and fall of sirens in the distance. He couldn’t know if they were headed in his direction, but he hoped that Marjorie had heard the commotion and called the police.

  “Cops,” the one who’d hit him said.

  “What are we gonna do?” his companion asked, sounding panicked. “We didn’t have time to grab it all. There’s still—”

  “Shut up,” the first man snapped. “Get goin’. We can’t stay any longer.”

  With that, the two men sprinted toward the rear of the property and were promptly swallowed up by the darkness. Seconds later, he heard the rustling of leaves, then no more. The men were gone.

  And there wasn’t a damn thing Boone could do about it.

  Leo ran through the darkness with Randall hot on his heels. Even as he jumped over fences, slipped between houses, and dodged bushes and birdbaths, he remained alert, watching every window for movement or light, listening to the sirens that continued to draw closer. Leo willed himself to stay calm and focused. He knew it wouldn’t do him any good to become distracted, not now.

  And to think, the evening had started lucky.

  When they’d arrived in town, Leo had done the same as the night before, driving slowly as Randall watched for either of the Life magazine men. He had tried to stay positive, but with every passing minute, he’d become more and more convinced that they were going to have to give up, that they were never going to find the needle in the haystack, that the robbery was off.

  But then Randall had nearly jumped out of his seat. “There he is!” the younger thief shouted as he pointed out the window. “One of ’em! Right there!”

  The guy was aimlessly making his way down the sidewalk, looking in the festival stalls as he munched on a hot dog. He was an odd sort, awkward in both the clothes he wore and the way he moved, the kind who’d be hard-pressed to turn a pretty girl’s head. An ugly one’s, too, for that matter.

  “He the one who took your picture?”

  “Naw, it was the other one,” Randall answered. “What do we do now?”

  Leo thought for a moment, a plan quickly forming in his head. “If we watch him, he might take us where we want to go.”

  They shadowed their quarry from the festival away from downtown and into a neighborhood. Worried that the car might get them noticed, Leo pulled over and told Randall to follow on foot.

  “Once you find out where he goes, come back,” he explained. “Then we’ll drive over and take a closer look.”

  Leo watched the two men disappear into the gloomy dusk. Time felt like it slid by at a crawl. He felt nervous, exposed, worried that every pair of headlights he saw belonged to a police car. After what felt like half an hour, Randall returned and they drove past the place the man had entered.

  “He went in a door at the rear, back by the garage,” Randall explained.

  Leo nodded, slowing down to take a closer look. “They ain’t local so they’re probably letting a room,” he said. “Any sign of the other one?”

  “Nope. Lights were off when he got there.”

  “Maybe he’s sleepin’.”

  “I doubt it. He struck me as the type who’d be where the fun was.”

  They parked the car a couple of blocks away, opposite a church, then walked back. “I say we go in, knock his skull, and see what we can find,” Randall had impatiently suggested when the house was again in sight.

  Leo shook his head. “Be patient. Sometimes these things have a way of workin’ themselves out.”

  Sure enough, less than a minute after he’d said that, the door opened and the man left, leading a dog on a leash and sneezing like he had a cold.

  Once the man and dog had disappeared down the sidewalk, the two thieves hurried to the house without a word shared between them. Amazingly, Leo discovered that the door hadn’t been locked and a light was still on; the dumb bastard might as well have laid the welcome mat out before he left. Immediately, Randall set about rifling through desk drawers and spilling the contents from suitcases, searching for the incriminating photograph. Leo took a more methodical approach, looking over the room, trying to see what stood out.

  And something did.

  Peeking into the small kitchen, he hit the jackpot. Pictures were clipped to a length of string, like clothes hung on a line to dry. Bottles and trays had been laid out on the counter. Though Leo knew next to nothing about being a photographer, he understood that this was the man’s makeshift darkroom.

  Flipping on the light switch, he was momentarily surprised by the red bulb, then started making his way through the photos. The fourth one made Leo pause. In it, a beautiful blonde took up most of the shot, but there, just off her shoulder, was a face he recognized.

  “Got it,” Leo announced.

  Randall was in the room in a heartbeat. Seeing what his partner had in his hand, he whooped for joy. “All right, then. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Take more pictures, all the negatives, too, and some of the other camera stuff,” Leo said. “We gotta make this look more like a robbery.”

  The two of them set about stuffing pictures and negatives in their pockets, knocking over equipment, and making a mess of things. Leo had expected them to still have plenty of time, so he was taken completely off-guard when the front door swung open, revealing the Life magazine man and the dog, returned from their walk. For a moment, all of them froze, staring at one another.

  It was the dog that moved first.

  The mutt let loose a couple of loud barks, then lunged at Randall. The younger thief barely managed to avo
id being bit, then made a beeline for the door. He knocked the awkward man out of the way in his haste as he rushed into the night, the dog two steps behind. The other man seemed dazed and made no effort to move or call for help, which suited Leo just fine. It was a simple matter for him to walk over and crack the man on the chin, knocking him to the floor in a heap.

  But even then Leo had known that they’d made a huge mistake.

  Neither he nor Randall was wearing a mask. It was possible that this joker had gotten a good look at one, if not both of them. Standing over the unconscious man, Leo contemplated using his gun. A well-placed bullet would remove any chance of their being found out. Still, a murder would create a whole host of other problems. So in the end, Leo stayed his hand. His decision came down to the photographs. They could be carefully examined and Randall’s face identified. There was no way this knucklehead would be able to do the same; odds were, he’d be too frazzled or frightened to give a good description.

  It was then, as he stepped to the door, determined to help his partner rid himself of the dog, that Leo saw someone in the yard, staring at him. Immediately, he’d guessed that it had to be the photographer.

  And so he had run.

  Fortunately, the other man had been distracted enough by Randall to allow Leo to put a fist in his breadbasket, letting them escape.

  Now, breathing hard and with a sheen of sweat on his brow, Leo split between a pair of houses, dodged a mailbox, and was at the car. He already had the keys in the ignition, the engine roaring to life, before Randall had shut his door.

  “We did it!” the younger thief crowed triumphantly.

  “Yeah, we did, but don’t forget that the reason we had to go through all this shit is because you screwed up,” Leo reminded him.

  Randall groaned. “Can’t you just be happy we got the damn thing?”

  As he pulled the car away from the curb, moving quick but not too fast as to draw attention, Leo suppressed a smile. He was happy that the problem had been solved, but he didn’t want his partner to know it. Let him stew for a while. Regardless, now they could finally get back to focusing on what they’d come here to do.

  It was time to rob a bank.

  Kneeling in Marjorie’s backyard, Boone took a couple of deep breaths, the pain in his stomach starting to subside, and nuzzled Daisy. The rise and fall of sirens continued to grow stronger as they drew closer. Slowly, Boone rose to unsteady feet, then started back to the room.

  “Come on, girl,” he said, and the dog obediently followed.

  The figure Boone had first seen slumped on the floor was now stirring. As he’d both feared and expected, it was Clive. The young writer appeared dazed, as if he had just woken from sleep. His hands gingerly touched his jaw where an ugly bruise was blossoming, a red that would soon turn dark.

  “What…what happened…?” Clive asked.

  “I was hoping you could tell me,” Boone replied as he knelt beside him.

  He shook his head. “I opened the door…and these two guys…”

  “Don’t hurry it, and go back further if you can.”

  “Okay,” the writer replied, then took some time to regain his bearings; when he continued, his voice was stronger, which made him sound more sure of himself. “When I finished writing, I took your advice and went to the festival,” Clive explained. “I walked around, got something to eat, and had some fun. When I came back, I decided to take Daisy for a walk. I felt bad that she’d been cooped up for so long and figured that my allergies would be better outside, but we hadn’t gone more than a couple of blocks before I was sneezing as bad as ever.” As if to prove the point, he sneezed, then winced from the pain it caused.

  “Go on, girl,” Boone said, shooing Daisy into the yard. “Then what?”

  “When I opened the door, two men were in the room. They looked as surprised as I was. The next thing I knew, Daisy went crazy and chased one of them outside. The other decked me, I guess.”

  Boone looked over the room. It was in shambles. Clothes and newspapers were strewn about. Furniture had been tipped over and broken. Then he noticed that the door to his darkroom was open, so he went over, worried about what he would find. It wasn’t good. Most of the photographs he’d taken at the festival were gone; only a few remained on the drying line, and a handful more littered the floor. Boone knelt and opened a drawer, expecting to find it empty, but was pleasantly surprised to find his camera and lenses where he’d put them that afternoon.

  Which didn’t make a lot of sense.

  Up until then, everything about what had happened pointed to it being a robbery. If so, then why had the most expensive thing in the room been left behind? For that matter, why were some of his pictures missing? Boone wondered if he wasn’t making the wrong assumption. Had this been an act of vandalism, just a couple of guys who’d had too much to drink and decided to wreck something? Boone quickly dismissed that possibility; neither man had moved or fought like they were under the influence of alcohol. But in the end, he couldn’t come up with a better explanation. Odds were the only reason his camera hadn’t been stolen was because of Clive; the writer had returned before the two thieves could finish ransacking the place. Boone knew that he’d gotten lucky. Clive, too.

  Just then, Daisy made a sudden, sharp bark. Boone hurried outside, wondering if the two men were back for more. Instead, he found Marjorie cautiously peeking her head around the edge of the porch. In the scant light spilling from the door to his room, the landlady looked frail and frightened, much older than her already advanced years.

  “Is…Is everything all right…?” she asked hesitantly.

  Boone nodded. “It is now. A couple of guys broke in and jumped Clive,” he explained, “but Daisy and I ran them off.”

  Marjorie’s expression showed relief. “I heard the dog bark and then some shoutin’. I didn’t know what else to do so I called the police.”

  “You did the right thing.”

  As they talked, the sound of sirens grew louder by the second. Boone looked up the street just as a police car raced around the corner, the red light on its roof flashing bright in the night. It pulled into Marjorie’s drive fast, then skidded to a sudden stop. Boone was surprised that he recognized the officer who got out from behind the wheel; it was Garrett, Lily’s old friend whom she’d introduced to him that very afternoon.

  “I got here as quick as I could,” he said, addressing Marjorie. “What seems to be the trouble?”

  “Someone broke into our room and attacked my colleague,” Boone answered.

  He led Garrett through what had happened. He showed him the destruction in their room, the bruise on Clive’s chin, as well as where the two intruders had disappeared into the night. The whole time, Garrett didn’t say much, asking only a couple of questions as he shone his flashlight into the bushes and not bothering to jot anything down in his notebook. Boone wondered if it was just the police officer’s demeanor, if when he was on the job he was all business, but a sneaking suspicion was beginning to nag at him.

  He was starting to think that Lily’s friend didn’t like him all that much.

  “Do you know what was taken?” Garrett asked once they were back in the room. Clive was finally up off the floor and in a chair, some ice pressed against his wound. Marjorie stood near the door, absently scratching Daisy’s head; the dog’s tongue lolled out of her mouth.

  “I couldn’t say for sure just yet,” Boone answered. “Some pictures, a camera bag, a few other things.”

  The police officer nodded. Turning to Clive, he asked, “You said that you saw the men. Did you get a good-enough look at either of them to make a description?”

  Clive shrugged his bony shoulders. “I…I don’t know. It all happened so fast. One was older than the other, but besides that…”

  “Out-of-towners, I’d bet,” Garrett said. “Here for the festival.”

  There was something about the dismissive tone in the lawman’s voice that rubbed Boone the wrong way. This whole time,
Garrett had been acting like their getting robbed was an inconvenience to him, something that wasn’t worth getting worked up about. Even though Boone knew it wouldn’t do them any good, likely it would do the opposite, he couldn’t help but voice his frustration.

  “Good detective work, there,” he said sarcastically. “Now what do you plan to do about finding the guys who did this, maybe get us back our stuff?”

  Garrett looked at him with a flat stare; if he was angry about what Boone had said, or how he’d said it, it didn’t show. “We’ll do what we can, but this isn’t like in the big city,” he explained. “We don’t have the manpower or the time, especially not with the festival in full swing. Usually, things are pretty peaceful around here. Outside of the occasional drunken brawl, the worst we have to deal with is a pickpocket working the crowd. Odds are, the guys who did this,” he said, nodding at the disheveled room, “aren’t local.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever catch them?” Clive asked.

  “We’ll do our best,” Garrett answered.

  “That’s not much of an answer,” Boone said, still a bit hot under the collar.

  “If I’m being completely honest, I wouldn’t bet on it,” Garrett answered. “What with their almost getting caught, I’d be willing to bet my paycheck that those two are hightailing it away from here just as fast as they can. They’ll know they got lucky.”

  “I hope Daisy bit them so bad they need stitches,” Marjorie added, giving the dog’s head another pat.

  Clive chuckled and even Garrett broke a smile, but Boone kept frowning. Sure, the things that had been stolen from him could be replaced, all the pictures retaken, but he still felt angry, violated. He knew that he should be glad that Clive hadn’t been hurt worse, but he couldn’t.

  So he swore silently to himself.

  Those bastards better have headed for the hills, because if I ever get my hands on them, there’s going to be hell to pay!