by Poppy Brite
He hit the joint, which tasted even better than it smelled, and held the smoke in for a long time. He didn’t think so much of theft, but it was hard to feel sorry for vast bloated corporate entities like Citibank and Southern Bell. They loved to talk about how the cost of such theft was passed on to the consumer, Terry reflected, but when was any cost of big business not passed on to the little guy at the bottom of the ladder?
Whatever Zach’s morals (or lack thereof), Terry genuinely liked him. If there was even a slim chance that feds were heading for Missing Mile to nab him, Terry knew he had to help Zach get away.
“Okay,” he said. “Truth. Zach’s in town.”
Eddy’s face lit up with a beautiful, delighted smile. She was obviously crazy for Zach—along with half the world, it was beginning to seem. Terry refused to be responsible for breaking the news of Trevor to her. It wasn’t his damn business anyway. But he had a hunch that the plane out of the country was going to be carrying an extra passenger, and not the one Eddy probably hoped it would be, either.
“He’s staying with a friend,” Terry said. “In an abandoned, haunted house. Now I’m not going out there, and I don’t guess you better go by yourselves either. But I’ll take you over to my friend Kinsey’s. He doesn’t mind ghosts. He’ll go tell Zach you’re here.”
Someone pounded on the front door. All three heads jerked up; all three faces snapped toward the sound.
“Wait here,” said Terry. “Don’t come out unless I call you. If you hear any other voices, go out the back door over there.” He picked up a can of Glade air freshener and tossed it to Eddy. “Here, spray some of this crap around.”
Terry ducked under the curtain and went to the front of the store. Two broad-shouldered guys in suits and mirror-shades were at the door, already pounding again. “Hold your fuckin’ water,” Terry muttered. He unlocked the door and opened it a crack. “C’n I help you?”
“Absalom Cover, U.S. Secret Service.” The taller dude flashed a badge at Terry. He was lean and hard-jawed, with dark hair slicked back from his narrow face. Terry thought he could make out the bulge of a pistol beneath that well-cut jacket. “This is my partner, Stan Schulman. May we step in and ask you a few questions?”
“Uh … actually, no.” Terry slipped out through the door, pushed it shut behind him. The sidewalk was bright and dazzling, and he realized he was about as stoned as he could be. But he knew his rights. If they didn’t have a warrant, he didn’t have to let them in the store.
“I’m doing inventory,” he explained, “and there’s stuff piled up everywhere. I can’t have a bunch of people walking around knocking my stacks over. You wanna ask me something out here?”
“Your name?”
“Terry Buckett. I own this place.”
The other agent, Schulman, reached into his jacket. He looked dumpy and unkempt next to the sleek Cover. Terry could see oily beads of sweat standing out on the man’s scalp, clearly visible through the thinning hair. There were even a few in his mustache. Terry tried to imagine what it would be like to have a job that made you wear a jacket and tie in the heat of a Carolina summer.
Schulman pulled out a small photograph. “Have you ever seen this person before?”
Terry studied the photo, managed not to laugh at Zach’s fuck-you scowl. “No … I don’t think so.”
“You must see a lot of kids in your line of work,” Schulman urged. “Try to be sure. His name is Zachary Bosch. He’s nineteen years old.”
“And he’s a dangerous criminal and a menace to society, right? Nope, sorry, I haven’t seen him.” Terry folded his arms across his chest and stared at the agents. He saw himself reflected in their sunglasses, four little images of his ratty hair and faded blue bandanna cheering him on. Bosch. It figured.
“We know he’s in town,” said Schulman. “They gave us a positive ID up the street at the diner. We’ve got this whole place blanketed. If you know where he is and don’t tell us, all sorts of bad things could happen to you.”
“ ’Scuse me?” Terry tapped the side of his head with the heel of his hand. “I must be hearing wrong. I thought I woke up in America this morning.”
“You did, Mr. Buckett.” Cover leaned in menacingly. “And possession of marijuana is illegal in America. Aren’t you a little stoned right now?”
Shit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I gotta get back to work. If you want to waste your time getting a warrant and searching my store, go ahead. You won’t find anything. I thought you guys were supposed to guard the President, not harass innocent citizens.” He saw both agents’ jaws go stiff when he said President.
“We do our jobs, Mr. Buckett.” That was Cover, cold and deadly. “We expect innocent citizens to help us out when they can.”
“And the rest of us are guilty, huh?”
“Of something, Mr. Buckett.” Even with mirrorshades on, Cover managed to look smug. “Everybody’s guilty of something. And we can find out what. Good afternoon.”
“And a terrific afternoon to you,” said Terry as he went back into the store and locked the door behind him. He stood there for a minute watching them walk away, cold shivers running up his spine. He couldn’t help but wonder what in hell he was getting into here.
But he knew which side he was on, and that was about all he needed to know. Terry looked at the phone, thought of calling Kinsey. But what if the agents were hiding around the corner, waiting to see if he would jump on the phone as soon as they left?
He stuck his head through the curtain. The back room reeked of pine air freshener. “Bad news. The spooks are here looking for him.”
Eddy’s eyes went very wide. “Did they follow us? Did we lead them here?”
“I don’t think so. They didn’t seem to know you were around. I got the impression they were acting on some kind of tip.”
“The newspaper. Shit! Goddamn that fucking Phoetus!” Eddy pounded her small fists against her knees. Angry, with her jeweled ears and spiky haircut and elegant Asian face, she looked like some sort of feral-eyed Tibetan goddess. A couple of extra arms and a lolling tongue would have capped off the image perfectly.
“Look,” said Terry, “I’m gonna sneak out and make a call.”
Dougal reached into a pocket of his baggy fatigues and pulled out a cellular phone. “You wan’ use this?”
“Well—sure.” Terry examined the sleek little gadget. “Where do you turn it on?” Dougal showed him. He dialed Kinsey’s home number, heard a truncated ring, then a piercing electronic voice.
“The—number—you—have—reached—has—been—temporarily—disconnected …”
“Goddamn, I wish that guy would keep his bills paid. I guess we better get over there.”
Eddy tapped his arm. “Was one of those spooks named Cover?”
“Yeah, the spookier one.”
“I can’t go out there. He’ll recognize me.”
“I think they’re gone—”
“Our car is parked all the way down by the hardware store. I can’t take the chance.”
She was right, Terry realized. “Okay, wait here by the back door. We’ll pull up in the alley and get you.”
Terry and Dougal left the Whirling Disc together and walked with elaborate nonchalance along a series of back streets, gradually winding toward the other end of town. Terry imagined agents lurking behind every telephone pole, peering through every tinted window. “Doesn’t your car have Louisiana plates?” he asked Dougal. “Won’t it be dangerous to drive through downtown?”
“No mon. We stop on de way here at a—what you call de toilets by de road?”
“Rest stop?”
“Ya mon. We fin’ a car broken down but still have de license plate, an’ I take de liberty of borrowin’ de plate.”
Terry nodded, marveling. He had met plenty of freaks in his time, complete fuckups and brilliant artists and everything in between. But for sheer resourcefulness, he thought, these kids outdid them all.
Still
, they didn’t have the U.S. Government on their side, weighing the scale down with money and power. Street smarts wouldn’t be much use against a loaded Uzi.
Terry didn’t stop sweating until they had Eddy safely in the car, crouching in the back seat with a towel over her head, and they were well on their way to Kinsey’s. Even then, he couldn’t quit looking in the rearview mirror.
Kinsey moved Zach’s car into the driveway and parked his own behind it. The Mustang wasn’t exactly camouflaged, but it was less noticeable than it had been sitting in the middle of the front yard. He settled Trevor and Zach in his bedroom, then folded himself onto the couch. He had only been in bed for two hours when the Mustang pulled up in his yard, and he had to open the club later. Soon he was asleep again, his dreams blessedly free from blaring, whining horns and the smell of engine grease.
In the bedroom, Trevor lay flat on his back staring at the ceiling. His splinted hand felt heavy and remote. Zach was nestled into the crook of his left arm, legs thrown over Trevor’s, fingers idly playing with Trevor’s hair. They had each taken one of the painkillers the doctor had prescribed for them, and they were numb but contented. Enough so, eventually, to talk about the night before.
“What were you wearing there?” Zach asked.
“A suit with wide lapels. A tie. And fancy shoes.”
“Me too. But I had a beret.”
“You were Dizzy.”
“Huh?”
“Dizzy Gillespie. Bobby used to look at pictures of him and Charlie Parker to draw his characters’ clothes. They always wore these real sharp suits.”
“We were in the same place, weren’t we?”
“We were in Birdland.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we were inside my father’s brain. Or we were in hell. Or we were hallucinating. How the fuck should I know? You were there. You saw it.”
There was a silence. Trevor wondered if he had spoken too sharply, but he did not want to pick apart what had happened in the house, not yet. He wasn’t sure he ever would.
Finally Zach asked, “Where should we go next?” His voice was beginning to fade out. He pressed his face into the side of Trevor’s chest and closed his eyes.
“Have a dream,” Trevor told him, “and make it be about a beach. It has pure white sand and clear turquoise water, and the sun feels like warm honey on your skin. Stop someone on the beach and ask them where you are. Then remember it, and we’ll go there.”
“Ohhh, yes …” He felt Zach’s body relax completely. “… love you, Trev …”
“I love you too,” he whispered into the cool silence of the room. It was true, it was all true, and they could both be alive to believe it. Trevor was still amazed by this knowledge.
You could kill someone because you loved them too much, he realized now, but that was nothing to do with art. The art was in learning to spend your life with someone, in having the courage to be creative with someone, to melt each other’s souls to molten temperatures and let them flow together into an alloy that could withstand the world. He and Zach had used each other’s addictions to hurl themselves into Birdland. But addictions could fuel talents, and talents surely fueled love. And what else had brought them back but love?
Zach’s breathing was slow, even: a wholly peaceful sound. Trevor wondered if he might be able to sleep too. He let his body settle into Zach’s, synchronized his breathing and his heartbeat with Zach’s.
Minutes later he was as deeply asleep as he had ever been, and his sleep was dreamless.
* * *
Dougal’s ancient station wagon pulled up in front of Kinsey’s house. Eddy saw the black Mustang in the driveway, and her heart leapt. “That’s Zach’s car!”
Terry and Dougal followed her up the walk. Terry knocked, waited, knocked louder. Eddy could not make herself stand still. After a few agonizing minutes, the door opened a crack and a bright blue eye peered out. Then it swung all the way open, and a very tall, very thin man in rumpled pajamas smiled blearily at them. “Mornin’, Terry.” He nodded at Eddy and Dougal, then stood there rubbing his long skinny jaw and looking politely puzzled.
“Mornin’,” said Terry without a trace of irony, though it was just past three P.M. “Kinsey, it seems we got some trouble. These are Zach’s friends from New Orleans, and his enemies aren’t far behind.”
“Well, come on in, sit down. Zach’s asleep. Trevor too.” Kinsey ushered them through the door.
Terry made introductions, then told Kinsey about his run-in with the agents. Eddy stared around the cozy living room. Her thoughts were speeding out of control: Zach’s in this house, I’m going to see him, I’m going to save him …
“What did you do after the show last night, anyway?” Kinsey asked.
“We ate mushrooms and watched a movie. Trevor and Zach went home, but Calvin gave them some ’shrooms too.” Terry frowned. “Why?”
“Well, they met up with some kind of accident.”
“The car looks okay.”
“Something happened in the house.”
“I knew it!” Terry slapped his forehead. “That damn place is haunted! I went in there once, me and Steve and R.J., and you wouldn’t even believe what we saw—”
“What?” said a quiet new voice. “What did you see?”
Everyone turned. A young man with long ginger-blond hair stood in the hall doorway. His right hand was splinted and swathed in bandages. He was shirtless, and his cotton pants rode low on his hips as if he had just tugged them on one-handed. His pale intense eyes rested briefly on Eddy and Dougal, then moved back to Terry.
“Hey, Trevor.” Terry looked embarrassed. “I, uh, I’d rather not tell you what I saw, if you don’t mind. I shouldn’t have been talking about it.”
“That’s okay,” said Trevor. He glanced at the newcomers again. “Who’re these?”
“Well …”
“We’re from New Orleans,” Eddy interrupted. “We’re friends of Zach’s. If you’re his friend too, we need your help.”
Trevor’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Kinsey, who shrugged. “What do you want?”
Eddy could tell by the way he said it that he had slept with Zach. What a surprise.
“How much do you know?” she asked him.
“Everything.”
“Prove it.”
“I remember now. You’re Eddy. He left you ten thousand dollars as a going-away present.” He looked at Dougal. “And you’re the guy from the French Market. I don’t remember your name.”
At least he mentioned me, Eddy thought bleakly. But something was odd here; this Trevor didn’t seem like one of Zach’s one-night stands. He looked intelligent and talked as if he had a brain. And Zach evidently trusted him a lot.
“Is he all right?” she asked.
“He will be.” Trevor stared at her. “Tell me what you want.”
“Trev? What’s going on?” A pair of skinny arms appeared out of the dark hallway and encircled Trevor from behind. A moment later, Zach peered over Trevor’s shoulder. His face was sleep-webbed, naked without his glasses. From what Eddy could see, he wore nothing but a pair of skimpy black underwear. He squinted at the roomful of people. When he made out Eddy and Dougal, his eyes went almost comically wide. “Fuck! I think I’m hallucinating again!”
“No, you’re not. They’re really here.” Trevor guided Zach to the couch, sat him down beside Kinsey, then sat on his other side and put a protective arm around his shoulders. “They haven’t said why, though.”
“We want you to leave with us,” said Eddy. She looked at no one but Zach, though she couldn’t tell if he was really seeing her or not. He seemed unfocused, not quite there. “The cops raided your apartment. They also arrested your friend Stefan, who ratted on you just as fast as he could. Now they’re in Missing Mile. We can help you get away.”
“Hey, Ed. Hey, Dougal. It’s great to see you. Uh … where would you take us?”
“Us?”
Zach stared at the
floor, then back up at Eddy. A fog seemed to clear from his green eyes, and she saw the old evil spark. He was in there after all. “Yeah, Ed. Us. Me and Trevor. If there’s a problem with that, I guess we’ll have to get away on our own.”
He laid his hand on Trevor’s leg, high up on the inside of his thigh, and looked evenly at her. There was no trace of guilt in his expression. She supposed guilt simply wasn’t part of his genetic makeup.
“Just tell me how you could do it,” she said.
“Do what?”
“Fall in love so fast after refusing to do it for nineteen years, you ass!”
Zach shook his head. Eddy could see that this question honestly bewildered him, and that hurt most of all, because she knew exactly how he felt. “I don’t know,” Zach said. “I just found the right person.”
She looked at Trevor, who met her gaze steadily. His eyes were so clear that Eddy thought she could look straight through them to his brain. Was that what made Zach love him? She imagined those lips kissing Zach, those graceful long-fingered hands touching him, Zach’s head resting on that smooth bony chest. There was chemistry between them, and passion; it was obvious just watching them sit together.
“Okay,” she said. “Fine. I hope it makes you happy. I’m going outside for a few minutes. You guys decide what you want to do, and let me know.” Eddy stood up and groped her way out of the room with tears blinding her eyes, found herself in the hall, then in a bedroom. She was sobbing now, unable to see anything, barely able to breathe. She stumbled back into the hall, nearly tripped over her own feet, then felt a large, gentle hand on her shoulder, a tall form looming behind her. Kinsey.
“Back door’s this way,” he said, and guided her into the kitchen.
“Th-thank you … I’m sorry to freak out in your house …”
“No apology needed. I understand.” He opened the door for her. “The yard’s very private. Stay as long as you like.”
“I don’t think we have long.”
