Blackburn

by Bradley Denton

  Blackburn’s TV was a twelve-inch black-and-white that he’d bought with his first paycheck. The folks over in the Electronics Department had given him a few dollars off because he was an employee. He thought that was a pretty fair deal. In fact, he thought Oklahoma Discount City in general was a pretty fair deal. Then his boss retired, and the store hired a man named Leo to manage the Automotive Department.

  Leo didn’t like Blackburn. For one thing, he thought Blackburn’s hair was too long, and called him a hippie. Blackburn replied that he couldn’t be a hippie, because it was 1978 and all the hippies had been declared dead in 1967. Leo grimaced and spat on the floor of the stockroom. Leo was about fifty, and he wore a black toupee. He had lines around his eyes, and liver-colored lips. He looked pissed off all the time, and he sneered at any customer who paid using a lot of pennies.

  It was because of Leo that Blackburn lost his job. Leo had only been the department manager for a week and a half when he accused Blackburn of stealing a case of Quaker State 10W-30 Multi-Viscosity Motor Oil.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Blackburn told him in the stockroom. It was early on Thursday morning. Leo had just accused him. They were the only ones there. “I didn’t steal any Quaker State. I didn’t steal anything.”

  Leo’s face twitched. “I saw you take it out of the store last night,” he said. “Then I stayed late to count the sales slips, and I came in early this morning and did it again. It’s short. You’re a goddamn liar and a thief.”

  Blackburn became irritated. He was a lot of things, but a liar was not one of them. He took a breath and closed his eyes. There was no point in getting upset. All he had to do was tell the truth. Then he could get to work and think about other things.

  He opened his eyes. “May I explain, please?”

  Leo’s eyebrows rose. They were thin and gray. They were how Blackburn knew that Leo wore a toupee. The toupee was thick and black.

  “May you?” Leo said, mocking. “May you? Listen, punk, you can ‘explain’ by paying for that case of oil and then getting your ass out of here before I call the cops.”

  “That hardly seems fair.”

  “I could care less,” Leo said.

  “Couldn’t.”

  “Huh?”

  “Couldn’t. Saying that you could care less means that you actually do care. Saying that you couldn’t care less means that you don’t really give a shit.”

  Leo sneered. “Listen to the college boy. You sound like my wife. Thinks she’s Albert fuckin’ Einstein ’cause she had a year of juco. Maybe I should straighten you out like I do her.” Leo raised his right hand in a fist.

  “Your wife’s name is Lorraine, isn’t it?” Blackburn asked.

  “How’d you know that?” Leo’s voice was low.

  “I heard you talking to her on the phone.”

  Leo shook his head. His toupee moved. “A liar, a thief, and an eavesdropper. Pay for the oil and get out.”

  “But I was carrying the oil for a customer, sir.”

  “Bullshit. You didn’t ring it up—”

  “I’m not allowed to use the register.”

  “—and nobody paid no money for it. You’re lucky I didn’t just call the cops right off the bat. This way I’m giving you a chance to get out with your ass intact.”

  Blackburn became more irritated. “There wasn’t any money because it wasn’t a cash transaction,” he said. “I gave him credit.”

  “What?” Leo’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Who? On what card?”

  Blackburn stepped closer to Leo. He could smell stale cigarette smoke. “I’m getting upset, sir,” he said. “You have to let me explain.”

  Leo bared his teeth. They were gray stumps. “So explain. Explain all you damn well please.”

  “A man came in last night needing oil,” Blackburn said. “He had to change the oil in his truck so he could drive to Oregon to take care of his dying aunt. He needed at least five quarts for the change, and his truck burns a lot, so there’s no telling how much he might need for the drive. We figured a case would do it for sure, so that’s what I sold him. He gave me an IOU.” Blackburn took the folded slip from his shirt pocket. Red stitching above his pocket said OK—DARREL. Darrel was the name he had given the store when he’d hired on. A man in a bar had sold him a birth certificate and Social Security card with that name.

  Leo took the IOU slip and opened it. Then he crumpled it and threw it on the floor. He spit after it. “It’s a goddamn worthless scrap,” he said. “Can’t even read the goddamn writing.”

  Blackburn squatted to pick it up. “He promised he’ll send the money from Oregon as soon as he gets a job.”

  Leo put his foot on Blackburn’s shoulder and pushed. Blackburn fell back on his rump. He sat on the floor and looked up at Leo.

  “Christ Almighty Jesus God,” Leo said. “I suppose you’d believe it if I told you I needed a free case of oil for my health, huh?” He started toward the swinging doors to the retail area. “Get out. I’ll mail your last check, minus the price of a case of oil. Won’t leave much.” He glanced back. “Go on. I’m sick of looking at you.”

  Blackburn stood up. “I’m sorry to hear about your health, sir,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  Blackburn lunged forward and grabbed Leo around the waist. He squeezed hard. Leo tried to yell, but it came out as a wheeze. Blackburn wasn’t any bigger than Leo, but his arms were strong. He had been lifting cases of automotive equipment for eight and a half weeks. He lifted Leo and carried him across the stockroom to where the cases of oil were stacked. Leo pounded at Blackburn’s head and back, but he couldn’t pound hard. He couldn’t breathe.

  Blackburn dropped him and ripped open a case of Quaker State 10W-30. He removed a quart and punched two holes in the top of the can with his pocketknife. He had bought the pocketknife over in the Sporting Goods Department. The folks there had given him a few dollars off.

  Leo was on the floor. His face was purplish. His mouth was open, gasping. He seemed almost able to move again when Blackburn squatted and poured the amber stream into his mouth. Leo choked and turned his head to spit it out. Blackburn clamped a hand over Leo’s mouth and turned his face upward again.

  “Swallow,” Blackburn said.

  Leo’s face was changing colors. It went from purplish to a pale shade like dough, and then to a strange, veiled blue, like veins under skin.

  “Swallow,” Blackburn said again.

  Leo swallowed, and Blackburn gave him more.

  “Goood boy,” Blackburn said. “Make-ums alll better.”

  Leo threw up after the first quart and lay in the puddle, his arms and legs working feebly. Blackburn stood up and poked around the stockroom for an oil can spout. He had spilled too much pouring free.

  He found a spout and came back to Leo, who was crawling toward the swinging doors. Blackburn turned him onto his back again, sat on him, and plunged the spout into another quart. He put the spout to Leo’s lips, but found that Leo’s teeth were clamped together.

  “It’s for your own good,” Blackburn said. “You’re not at all well.”

  Leo shook his head.

  “Come on,” Blackburn said. “Open up for the good medicine.”

  Leo kept shaking his head.

  “Open up,” Blackburn said, “or I’ll shove the spout through your teeth.”

  Leo relented. Blackburn finished that quart and started another. And then another. Leo threw up three more times. Blackburn had to jump out of the way. It took awhile before it was over.

  Blackburn wrote a note on the back of the IOU to leave with Leo, then headed for the door to the loading dock. He paused there and looked back. The green-and-white cans gleamed in the slime on the floor.

  “Hope you’re feeling better,” Blackburn said, and went out.

  The police found the note in Leo’s pocket. It read:

  Dear Lorraine. I am no good, as well you may have imagined. I have been jealous because you are smart and I am stupid as a stump.
I have no hemlock and don’t even know what hemlock is anyway on account of I am so damn dumb, so will make do with motor oil. Goodbye. Leo.

  The Oklahoma County Coroner ruled it a suicide.

  FOUR

  BLACKBURN PULLS THE TRIGGER

  No one was home at the house beside the Nazarene church. Jimmy knocked again to be sure, then sat on the porch step to wait. It was his seventeenth birthday. He had time. Wantoda was green and quiet, and the air smelled of new grass. The 4 SALE sign in the window of the black Ford Falcon had an exclamation point. Mr. Dunbar would be home soon, and Jimmy would get a good deal. The six-hundred-dollar wad of cash in his jeans pocket was most of the money he had earned working after school at the turnpike Stuckey’s. He would spend no more than four hundred on the Falcon. It had been sitting in the Dunbars’ yard for weeks.

  Jimmy had the afternoon off from Stuckey’s because Ernie was sick with asthma and couldn’t give him a ride. Jimmy had wanted to take the time off anyway, it being his birthday. The car would be his present to himself. It was a safe bet that it would be the only present he got. Dad had been laid off from the machine shop again, so Mom didn’t have money to spend on things like birthdays. And Jasmine wouldn’t even speak to him without shrieking, much less give him a present. Mom might manage to throw a cake together, but that would be it.

  It was enough. He didn’t want anything else. He was seventeen. He wanted to be responsible for himself, to be in control. He wanted to buy a car. He wanted to buy a car and drive all over Tuttle County before dark. He wanted to stay away from home until his family wondered where he was.

  Besides, he needed the car. He had a date for the Junior-Senior Prom on Saturday. Mary Carol Hauser had said yes just this morning. Jimmy knew that she had put off her answer in hope of a better offer, but he didn’t mind. He liked Mary Carol. She was smart and foul-mouthed, with green eyes and swollen lips. It was imperative that he buy the Falcon this afternoon so he would have a chance to clean it before Saturday.

  Jimmy heard a car approaching. He stood, hoping it was Mr. Dunbar. Then the blue Blazer emerged from the shadows of the trees that overhung the street, and Jimmy sat back down. The Blazer was Officer Johnston’s new cop car. It was a four-wheel-drive enclosed truck with a siren, red-white-and-blue roof lights, knobby tires, a public-address system, a searchlight, a shotgun, and black windows all the way around. Just why the town had bought it was a mystery. In eleven years, Johnston had never done any police work beyond setting speed traps and harassing parked teenagers. He sure didn’t need a brand-new truck for that.

  The Blazer slowed. The driver’s-side window slid down, and Officer Johnston leaned out. He was wearing mirrored sunglasses. His veined nose seemed to throb. A burning cigarette hung from his lower lip.

  “Who’s that on the porch?” Johnston demanded. The Blazer came to a stop at the mouth of the Dunbars’ driveway.

  Jimmy stood. “Jimmy Blackburn, sir.”

  Johnston frowned. “Oh, yeah. Mr. Firecracker.” Three years ago he had hauled Jimmy, Ernie, and two other boys to City Hall for throwing firecrackers into trash cans. “What you doin’ on the Dunbars’ porch?”

  Jimmy nodded at the Falcon. “I’m going to buy that car, sir, but nobody’s home yet.”

  “Uh-huh.” Johnston took the cigarette from his mouth and spat. “I get any complaints from Mr. Dunbar, I’ll know who to look up.”

  “Don’t worry, sir.”

  “I ain’t the one needs advice, Mr. Firecracker,” Johnston said. “You watch yourself.” The tinted window slid up, and the Blazer moved on.

  “Asshole,” Jimmy muttered. He was careful not to let his lips move. Johnston was known to keep an eye on people in his rearview mirror and come back if they cussed him.

  When the Blazer was gone, Jimmy gazed at the Falcon and imagined himself in the front seat with Mary Carol snuggled up beside him. He doubted that she was much of a snuggler, but he could imagine it. He could imagine almost anything.

  A squirrel appeared on the Falcon’s roof. It seemed to have materialized from the air. Its tail fluffed, and it deposited a brown pellet on the black paint.

  “Hey!” Jimmy yelled. “Not on the car!”

  The squirred chittered and deposited another turd.

  Jimmy stepped off the porch and started across the yard, but stopped when a blob of gray fur shot past him. It rushed to the Falcon and leaped up, slamming against the left rear door. It fell to the ground and leaped up again, barking. It was the filthiest dog Jimmy had ever seen. It leaped at the squirrel over and over again. The squirrel dashed about the roof looking for an escape.

  Jimmy watched, considering. He felt a little sorry for the squirrel, but sorrier for the dog. Even though its fur was thick and shaggy, its ribs showed. It couldn’t belong to the Dunbars; it had to be a stray that had stopped to rest in the cool dirt under their porch. It was so hungry that it was crazed. Jimmy went into the yard and looked for a rock to throw. Maybe he could knock the squirrel to the ground, and the dog would have time to be on it.

  He found a half-buried chunk of brick. He kicked it loose and picked it up, but as he cocked his arm to throw, the squirrel jumped to the Falcon’s hood and from there to the ground. It started for a cedar, but the dog cut it off. The squirrel zigzagged and fled toward the Nazarene church. The dog charged after it.

  Jimmy threw the chunk of brick, hoping to at least slow the squirrel down. He missed and hit the dog. The dog flinched but didn’t slow. Jimmy was angry at himself then, and impressed with the dog’s determination. He swore that the dog would dine on squirrel meat before evening.

  The squirrel crossed into the churchyard and ran up the church’s concrete steps toward the white double doors. Then it disappeared. The dog leaped up the steps and ran headlong into the left double door. There was a loud bang and a rattle. The dog fell back, then leaped up again. It clawed at the door and barked.

  Jimmy crossed into the churchyard and climbed the steps. He saw that the left door’s bottom right corner was chipped and ground down, making a small hole. The squirrel had escaped into the church.

  The dog moved aside as Jimmy reached the top step, but continued to bark. Jimmy knocked on the right double door. He didn’t know if the Nazarenes would be home on a Wednesday afternoon, but it was worth a try. He knocked hard so he would be heard over the dog, and the door swung inward. The dog stopped barking and ran inside.

  Jimmy pushed the door open wider. “Hello?” he called. “You have a squirrel loose in the church!”

  No one answered, so Jimmy entered and went through the vestibule into the sanctuary. There were no windows, and the place was dark and cool. It reeked of Pine-Sol. Even with a shaft of afternoon light stabbing through the open doorway, Jimmy couldn’t see anything clearly. He heard the dog’s toenails clicking somewhere ahead, but that was all.

  He looked back into the vestibule for light switches and saw none, so he ran his hands over the paneled sanctuary walls on either side of the vestibule. There were no light switches here either. Maybe they were up front near the pulpit. He stepped away from the vestibule and walked straight ahead, up what he guessed was the center aisle. He was beginning to see long shadows that must be pews.

  The dog’s toenail clicks stopped, so Jimmy stood still and listened. There was a growl and then a squeal, followed by rattles and clangs. Then the toenail clicks returned. Jimmy felt the dog’s furry body brush against his jeans. He turned back toward the vestibule and saw the dog trot into the sunshine. It was carrying a limp squirrel.

  Jimmy clapped and whistled. He watched the dog start down the concrete steps, its tail wagging.

  Then a loud crack cut the air. There was a spatter of blood. The dog fell over and lay still, halfway down the first step.

  Jimmy stared at the dog’s rump. He couldn’t see its front half. He couldn’t see the squirrel. The dog’s rump didn’t move. Its tail didn’t wag.

  Officer Johnston stepped into the rectangle of light and looked
down at the dog. He was dressed in brown, with a black belt and boots. He was wearing his mirrored sunglasses. He was hatless, his thinning hair slicked back with grease. He held his big blue pistol in his right hand. He cocked it with his thumb and pointed it at the dog.

  “Trespasser,” he said.

  Johnston prodded the dog with a boot. The dog’s rump slid off the landing, leaving only a little blood. Johnston looked into the church, and Jimmy felt the cop’s mirrored eyes probing.

  “That must be you in there, Mr. Firecracker,” Johnston said. “Come on out.”

  From the moment of the gunshot, Jimmy had been numb. Now, in the glare of the twin mirrors, the numbness burned off like frost before a flame. He hated the cop more than Satan hated God. He would not obey that bastard. Johnston wasn’t his old man. Johnston wasn’t shit.

  Jimmy crouched and moved to his right, groping for a pew. He would get underneath and crawl toward the vestibule. Then he would wait until Johnston came well into the sanctuary, and dash out. If he was quiet and quick, Johnston wouldn’t see him. There would be no way to prove who had been inside the church with the dog.

  Johnston came inside. Jimmy hurried to get under a pew and banged into metal.

  There were no pews. There were metal folding chairs instead. There was no way to hide under them and crawl to the door. The Nazarenes were a cheap-ass denomination.

  Johnston stopped just inside the sanctuary and stood straddle-legged. He raised his cocked pistol. “Hey! Boy! Freeze!” His breath rasped. He smoked too much.

  Jimmy knew that Johnston couldn’t see him. Not without lights, and wearing mirrorshades. Jimmy backed up the aisle. As long as he didn’t run into any more chairs, he didn’t think Johnston would be able to hear him over the cop’s own breathing.

  Johnston came forward, fanning his pistol before him. He was looking back and forth, searching. He kept his sunglasses on. He didn’t see Jimmy.