Backtracker

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  "You know," said Dave. "The gun. When he had the gun at Billy's party."

  "Oh, right," said Larry. "That gun thing."

  To say the least, Dave was stunned by Larry's flippant attitude toward the suicide attempt; he managed to suppress his shock, though, and spoke calmly, as if he hadn't thought anything of Larry's statement. "Anyway, he seems okay. I was really glad, y'know, because I was worried about him."

  "Aw, don't worry about Boris," tossed Larry.

  "Why?" asked Dave. "Why shouldn't I worry about him?"

  "He's an okay guy," Larry supplied casually. "He had a bad night there, but I bet he'll be solid from now on."

  "You really think so?" wondered Dave, glancing over at Larry."Uh-huh," nodded the mystery-man, gazing out the side window of the Torino.

  "You don't think he'll try to kill himself again?" pressed Dave.

  "I have no idea," said Larry. "I hope he won't."

  "So you think he might do it again, then?" asked Dave.

  "Beats me," sighed Larry. "He could do anything, I suppose."

  "You don't have any strong feeling about it, huh?"

  "The only strong feeling I have right now is that I'm hungry," chuckled Larry.

  And that was that. Dave had tried to get Larry to say something which might indicate that he could see the future, but Larry had given away nothing, then wrapped it all up with a laugh. The guy hadn't even sounded as if he were hiding something; for all that Dave knew from the exchange, Larry was being straight with him.

  Still, Dave believed that Larry was concealing a lot, that vast currents of truth swelled unseen beneath his calm surface. As determined as ever to probe those secret currents, he continued to work at penetrating Larry's defenses.

  Larry continued to deflect his every maneuver.

  For example: after leaving Highland Township, Dave brought up the chocolate milk crisis.

  "Hey, did I tell you I got called on the carpet last week?" asked Dave.

  "Nope," responded Larry.

  "You know what it was about?" continued Dave. "Chocolate milk."

  "Oh yeah?" said Larry. "What about it?"

  "Somebody turned me in for drinking it," declared Dave.

  "Huh," Larry said without much surprise, with just as little interest. "That's something."

  "You know who did it?" asked Dave. "You know who finked on me?"

  "Who?" asked Larry.

  "Peggy Kutz," supplied Dave. "How do you like that?" Glancing across the seat, he saw that Larry was looking straight ahead, gently stroking his sandy goatee.

  "Peggy Kutz, huh?" said Larry.

  "Yeah," confirmed Dave. "She got that new shift supervisor job, and I guess it went to her head. All those years we were friends, and then she went and nailed me like that. What a bitch, huh?"

  "That was pretty lowdown, all right," agreed Larry.

  "I really though I could trust her, y'know? I never expected her to stab me in the back like that."

  "You never see the big ones coming," said Larry.

  "I guess I should've taken your advice," said Dave.

  "What advice is that?"

  "Well, the night before I got called into the office by Fred, you were telling me to cover my butt. We were talking about sneaking food at work, and you said we oughtta' be careful."

  "Huh," said Larry. "I don't remember that. Are you sure it was me?"

  "Oh yeah," nodded Dave. "It was at Billy's trailer last Tuesday night. You and Billy were having some beers and I dropped by to do some studying, but we just ended up bullshitting for a couple hours."

  "I remember that much," Larry said slowly, "but I don't recall giving you any advice."

  "I distinctly remember you telling us to be more careful about snitching food. It was really weird, because you were talking about it that night, and then the very next day I got busted. Billy and I were bragging about taking chocolate milk, and then I got in trouble for that very same reason."

  There was a brief pause, and then Larry snorted. "I don't remember any of that," he said. "You must be mistaken."

  As the outrageous denial slid from Larry's lips, Dave shook his head in amazement. "I know what you said," Dave responded, striving to keep the irritation that he felt from entering his voice. "Billy and I were saying how we could trust everybody at work, because we all covered for each other, and you told us we shouldn't depend on other people to keep secrets like that. You said you just never know when someone might decide to turn against you...and the next day, someone turned against me."

  "Well, it sounds like good advice," Larry said lightly. "Too bad I never gave it."

  "You really don't remember?" Dave asked quizzically. "I mean, you said it, Larry. I was there."

  "Maybe you heard me wrong," chuckled Larry Smith. "What I probably said was 'Gimme' another beer.' "

  "Whatever you say," sighed Dave, backing down, yet again, from Larry's blockade.

  Though Larry had stymied him, Dave's disappointed retreat didn't last long. After mulling over that latest verbal duel, Dave became more convinced than ever that Larry was hiding something. Since it was highly unlikely that Larry had completely forgotten what he'd said in Billy's trailer, Dave was sure that the guy was lying about his memory. If Larry was lying about the conversation in the trailer, a conversation which suggested that he had psychic abilities, then it seemed plausible that he really had those abilities and was trying to throw Dave off his scent.

  With rejuvenated resolve, Dave resumed his testing of Larry, aiming sly questions at him and intently monitoring every response.

  As before, he came up empty at every turn.

  For example: as he drove into Morton, the borough in which Larry lived, Dave mentioned the cop's visit to Saturday night's party.

  "Boy, that was sure lucky the other night," he said lightly.

  "What was that?" Larry asked distractedly.

  "We really lucked out at Billy's trailer. You know, with the cop. We figured he was there to break up the party, and all he wanted was for us to move our cars."

  "Oh, right," said Larry.

  "Naturally, we figured there was going to be trouble," said Dave. "I mean, when a cop drops by in the middle of a big party, you expect him to bust you for something."

  "You never know what those cops are gonna' do," contributed Larry.

  "Everybody handled it pretty well, though," nodded Dave. "Nobody panicked or anything. Billy had things pretty organized, huh?"

  "Oh yeah," agreed Larry, but without much conviction or interest.

  "Y'know, it was really weird, though," Dave said laughingly. "Right before it all happened, you were asking us if the township police ever gave us any trouble over parking by the road."

  "I was?" asked Larry.

  "Yeah," confirmed Dave. "It was like The Twilight Zone or something. You asked us if we always parked that way, and you said the cops don't like that sometimes...and then, a little later, a cop came knocking at the door to complain about our parking!"

  "Huh," Larry said simply.

  "You remember that, don't you?" asked Dave.

  "Well, I remember asking if the police had ever broken up one of your parties, but that's it. I don't think I said anything about parking."

  'Here we go again,' thought Dave. "Oh, come on," he laughed. "You have to remember. Jeff Tressler was griping about how many cars were out front, and then you asked if we ever had any problems parking along the road."

  "No, no," said Larry. "I didn't say that. I think it was one of those other guys."

  Mentally, Dave groaned at the blatant runaround that Larry was giving him. The guy was obviously lying again, and Dave could do nothing to penetrate his mistruth. "Well, anyway, I thought it was weird," he said, losing the laughing quality from his voice. "Somebody said it, and then it happened."

  "Everything seems weird when you've got eight beers in you," chuckled Larry.

  And so it went for the remainder of the drive.

  Despite his lack of pr
ogress, Dave wasn't discouraged. Though Larry had so far refused to spill the beans, his lying had at least confirmed that there were beans to spill. One way or another, Dave would ferret out the secrets, no matter how long it would take or to what lengths he would have to go to get them.

  Though his initial interrogations had failed, Dave persisted in the hope that he could find a clue that day. He still planned to get into the guy's apartment and scout the premises for evidence or insight; though he didn't know exactly what he would be looking for, he expected the reconnoitering to turn up something, some hint of what direction his investigation should take. If nothing else, he expected to glean a clearer picture of Larry's personality; Dave believed that he could learn something about Larry by seeing the way in which he lived, the furnishings and possessions that he chose, the way in which they were arranged.

  Thus, Dave grew determined to gain egress to Larry's apartment. As Larry directed him through the streets of Morton Borough, Dave fixed his mind on his goal and marshaled his wits to achieve it.

  Larry instructed Dave to take the Torino up a steep, narrow alleyway, then pointed out a rundown white building to the left. The place was two stories high and boxlike, with a rectangular front and flat roof. Though there were only two small windows on the top floor, the ground floor had a wide one; colorful neon signs glowed in that window, each advertising a brand of beer. It was a neighborhood bar, a little place which Dave hadn't known existed until that moment.

  As he pulled the Torino to the curb in front of the bar, Dave wondered if this was Larry's home or if the guy just wanted to stop off for a drink. "So," he said querulously, staring at the barroom window. "Is this is it? Is this where you live?"

  "Uh-huh," replied Larry. "I've got a room upstairs."

  "Good location," said Dave. "Whenever you want a drink, you just go downstairs. You don't have to worry about driving home, either."

  "Which is good," said Larry, "since I don't have a car."

  Dave hesitated, trying to decide on the best way to get into Larry's place. He had to come up with a reasonable excuse, something which wouldn't betray his ulterior motives.

  He heard his passenger move then, and the door clicked open. "Well, thanks for the ride," Larry said with a polite nod, the brown paper bag in which he carried his steakhouse uniform bundled under his arm. "I appreciate it."

  "Hey, wait," interjected Dave, catching Larry before he could step out. "Could I use your bathroom? I've gotta' piss like crazy." Smiling sheepishly, he tried to sound as if he hated to impose but simply had no choice.

  "Well, I don't care," shrugged Larry. "You can use the john in the bar, though. Probably be a shorter run from here."

  "Yeah, but there might be somebody in there already," countered Dave. "I don't think I can wait, y'know?"

  "All right," sighed Larry. "If you gotta' go, you gotta' go."

  Leaning forward, Dave grimaced and gritted his teeth. "Believe me," he grunted, "I gotta' go!"

  Shaking his head, Larry laughed and got out of the car. Dave switched off the Torino and hurried after him.

  The two hiked up a short walk along one side of the building, then came to a windowless metal door at the rear corner. Hoisting a key from the pocket of his bluejeans, Larry unlocked and opened the door and stepped inside.

  Entering and tugging the door shut, Dave followed Larry up a dark flight of stairs. There was hardly any light in the passage, just a faint glow from somewhere above; Dave had to strain to see the outlines of the steps.

  "Geez," he exclaimed. "How come there isn't any light in here?"

  "Aw, there's a socket in the ceiling," explained Larry, "but there hasn't been a light bulb in it since I got here. I asked the landlord to put one in, but I guess he's too cheap or lazy to bother with it."

  "Maybe you oughtta' just get one yourself," suggested Dave. "You might end up falling down these steps sometime, y'know?"

  "Nah," dismissed Larry. "I'm used to it. Anyway, why should I pay to fix up this place if I'm not gonna' stay here that long?"

  Topping the stairs, Dave followed Larry into a short hallway. At the end of the hall, a small window admitted a feeble glow from the streetlights outside; though the glow didn't exactly light up the place, it was enough to enable Dave to make out his surroundings.

  As he trailed after Larry, Dave could see that the interior of the building looked as decrepit as the exterior. The plastered walls of the hallway were cracked and chipped, as was the ceiling; in some spots, the plaster had vanished in great hunks, leaving clefts and gaps through which gray sheet-rock could be seen. The floor was composed only of bare boards, some of which had warped to create a rippled, uneven surface.

  "So you're not planning on staying very long, huh?" Dave asked distractedly as he scanned the premises.

  "I doubt it," tossed Larry, ambling toward a door at the end of the hall.

  "How much longer will you be around, then?" wondered Dave.

  "Beats me," sighed Larry.

  "It doesn't sound like you're going to be here for very long, from the way you're talking." Stopping at the door beside Larry, Dave watched as the guy slid a key into the keyhole. At first, he was surprised by the number of keys on Larry's key ring; there were only two. He quickly realized, however, that those were all the keys that Larry needed, since he didn't have a car: one for the downstairs entrance and one for the door to his room.

  "Well, I don't usually stay in one place for very long," Larry said as he pushed the door open. "I never know when I'm going to leave until I finally hit the road."

  "Oh, right," nodded Dave. "I remember you saying that you only stay in a place till you get to like it."

  "Exactly," affirmed Larry. Stepping through the doorway, Larry reached for a switch on the wall just past the threshold.

  A ceiling light flashed on and Dave suddenly had a clear view of Larry's home. As Larry led him into the place, Dave looked around, absorbing every detail...what details there were.

  To say the least, the accommodations were Spartan. The room was small and square, perhaps twenty feet on a side. As far as Dave could see, there were no closets or doorways leading to adjoining chambers; the only extra space was in a tiny cubbyhole of a bathroom immediately to his right.

  There were only three pieces of furniture in the whole room. A low cot occupied one corner; in another corner, opposite the foot of the cot, there was a simple wooden table. A straight-backed chair sat beside the table, its back to the wall; the chair was painted lime-green, a color which clashed with the dark brown of the table.

  A cot, a table, and a chair; aside from those items, there wasn't one stick of furniture in the place. There was hardly any clutter, either, though Larry had no closets or dressers in which to keep his belongings. Dave saw an old hot plate and a pot on the table; three cans of soup were lined up beside the hot plate, but the table was otherwise bare. A grimy pair of sneakers was neatly arranged on the floor by the bed, toes touching the wall; a khaki duffel bag squatted alongside the shoes, its mouth cinched shut.

  A pot and a hot plate, three cans of soup, a pair of sneakers and a duffel bag; those were the only objects in the room besides the three pieces of furniture. There were no decorations, either, no mirrors or pictures on the walls. Two walls were blank, broken only by cracks in the dirty plaster; a third wall was interrupted only by the bathroom doorway. The cot and table lay lengthwise against the fourth wall; between them was a window, about two feet wide, but the window had no curtains or even a blind.

  And that was it. There was nothing else to see. Larry's hideout, which Dave had been so anxious to examine, was a cramped and barren burrow. It wasn't at all as Dave had envisioned it; he'd expected a more colorful place, hectic with mess and artifacts, scattered with photos and mementos of Larry's rich past...not the empty, featureless room in which he now stood.

  As soon as he'd taken his first look around, Dave knew that he would find no clues in Larry's room. Whatever secrets the man had, they wouldn'
t be divulged by the impersonal void of his home.

  The day of investigation was going to be a total loss after all.

  "Well, go ahead and use the john," said Larry, waving at the bathroom.

  Ending his inspection of the room, Dave remembered the charade which had gotten him into the place. "Thanks!" he sputtered, rolling his eyes with mock discomfort. "Bombs away!" he cried as he dove into the bathroom.

  Closing the door behind him, Dave found a light switch and flicked it upward. Immediately ending the act which he'd put on for Larry's benefit, he calmly looked around the tiny nook.

  Again, there was nothing of interest. A sink butted against the wall, its porcelain jaundiced with age; the metal spigot above it was crusted with grime, as were the spoked, old-fashioned faucet knobs. Beside the sink, a yellowed commode hugged the wall, its seat held only by a single hinge. The rest of that cupboard of a bathroom consisted of a shower stall; the narrow stall looked newer than the other fixtures, because its white sides hadn't yet turned yellow, but it looked as if it had been put together haphazardly, because there were gobs of dried caulk all over it. There was no shower curtain, and no bar upon which a curtain could be hung.

  There was no mirror or medicine cabinet in the room, nothing but the stripped, essential fixtures. As in the main room, there was little clutter: on the rim of the sink, there was a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste, a razor and can of Barbasol; a roll of toilet paper perched atop the tank of the commode; a neatly folded towel and a bar of soap lay on the floor of the shower stall.

  The bathroom was bare and blank, but Dave had expected no more after his first look around Larry's place. Clearly, no clues would be found in these stark and purely functional environs.

  After running some water and flushing the toilet for effect, Dave emerged from the bathroom. Larry was now busy at the table, stirring soup in the pot on the hot plate.

  "Supper time, huh?" Dave said nonchalantly, taking a step toward the table.

  "Uh-huh," nodded Larry. "Tomato surprise a la Campbell's."

  "Mm-mm good," smirked Dave, sliding his hands into the pockets of his coat.

  "You better believe it," Larry said sardonically. "Want some?"