Jack’s eyes were nail heads when he looked up. “Dr. Papua, you have given me several gifts. I have executed each mission—”
“Executed each person,” she corrected him.
“Yes, ma’am, executed each person,” he said. “I am thankful for your gifts. With God’s strength, I will abide by your wishes.”
“Good, Jack. Good. If you can control yourself, you are that much closer to feigning real human relationships. We must solidify your mask. Remember the credo?”
“I am what I pretend to be, ma’am.”
The mask he wore looked like a human face, a rather handsome one with a kind smile. But it felt hot on his skin and tight over his teeth.
And now here was The Beast again.
As the kids gathered around Jack on the soccer field, he spotted ATA 667 in the stands, sitting upright and rigid. He couldn’t see her eyes through her sunglasses, but he knew her eyes were on him. She sat beside a child, a little boy, who stared at the ground looking miserable.
Jack took a cleansing breath that, by the pounding pulse in his ears, didn’t seem to do its job. He asked the kids their names and checked them off on his list, wondering which one belonged to the Neighbor of the Beast. He ran his eyes over the list, examining the names, guessing which felt right for the child of a demon. She looked like she’d spawn a Tyler, Todd or a Chad. Poor little bastard. The kids were only seven and it was a co-ed team. If the bitch had a girl, what would she name her? He eyed the list again. Madeleine? Jocelyn, maybe?
He got them started on dribbling drills, encouraging the kids to keep control of the ball with little kicks. After a few minutes of getting them to move up and down the field, he played goalie and the kids laughed as they took shots on goal. He deflected a bunch of balls back to them, eventually letting them all through so they could move on to the next drill.
The late afternoon sun beamed heat on the players and the air was humid. The kids’ faces began to glow red and their mops of hair matted to their heads. “Let’s take a water break!” Jack said finally and the kids shambled to the side of the field.
Jack had brought a bunch of water bottles in a cooler at the edge of the field. The kids drank. Parents crowded around, voicing encouragement to their tykes. Peroxide Woman stayed in the stands, still watching his every movement. He imagined daggers, then lasers, shooting at him from her eyes. It was easy to imagine. Her body language was clear. She was stiff, preparing for battle.
A terrible thought occurred to him. What if this was a test from God or even from Dr. Papua? It took him a few minutes to convince himself that was impossible. Looking at all the people on the field, he caught himself dividing up the herd by category, doing precisely what Dr. Papua had warned him not to do.
“You must just see them as people. Do not look upon them as the sinners and the sinned against,” Dr. Papua had said.
“It’s a little more complicated than that. I am a predator, ma’am,” Jack had replied. “The world is divided into three categories: The Prey and the Witnesses. And things like me. The Predators.”
One of the parents, a bearded man dressed entirely in red, descended upon him. The man was very concerned for his child’s safety, he said. “You’re not offering any snacks to the kids that have peanuts, are you? My kid is very sensitive to peanuts. Life and death sensitive.”
“I’m just offering water but we’ll let the parents know again. The notice is right on the snack schedule.”
“People don’t read.”
Jack looked at him without replying. He didn’t know what to say that would satisfy the man.
“Do you have an epi-pen?” the bearded man asked.
“No. That would be something you would have to supply for your child. We tell everyone the school is a nut-free zone.”
“People don’t listen.”
“No,” Jack said. “They sure don’t.”
He called the kids on the field with his whistle and they trotted out. He split them into two teams and got half of them to turn their jerseys around. “We’re going to have a little fun practice game, guys!”
The kids moved in clutches, some distracted while others wandered the outskirts of the action around the ball. Others ended up kicking at their own teammates ankles, so anxious were they to get at the soccer ball.
A fat man at the edge of the field yelled encouragement to his son, jumping up and down in a ponderous pogo motion. Other parents clapped and shouted encouragement from the stands. Jack found his gaze wrenched back to the stands, hoping to see Peroxide Woman having a seizure and choking to death on her tongue. Or spontaneously combust. That would, by God’s grace, be a very good thing. Every time he glanced over, she stared back at him. Jesus was not going to reach down from his throne at the right hand of the Father and crush her into dust. A thought passed through his mind of which Dr. Papua would not approve: The Lord helps them that help themselves.
Jack looked away, trying to focus on the action of all the little witnesses kicking clumsily at the soccer ball. He willed himself not to look at Peroxide Woman, but at every break in the action, he glanced over. He peeked at her so often, he worried the witnesses would begin to see him for what he really was.
“I am what I pretend to be,” he said under his breath, over and over. But each assertion was instead a reminder that his mask was slipping. The herd might see his teeth.
A very old woman who watched everything with a massive pair of binoculars — so big they had to be Navy issue — sat beside the man in red. She was obviously somebody’s grandmother. As she watched the action, she spoke to the pretty young woman beside her. They smiled placidly back at him and he found their presence calming. He tried to focus on the old woman and her stack of curly white hair rather than the vibrating presence of The Beast.
Jack encouraged the kids to pass to each other. One boy, taller than the rest, hogged the ball and wouldn’t pass it. He was talented, so much so that Jack thought he was too precocious for this age division and should be moved up to a more competitive level. Jack blew his whistle and broke up the play, telling the kids again the importance of teamwork and passing the ball.
On the very next play, the tall kid moved the ball up the field all on his own again. With a strong and straight kick he scored a goal. Everyone clapped and he gave the kid a high five while yelling to the tiny goalie who had been scored upon that his was an excellent try. “I don’t think it would be easy for anybody to stop that kick,” he said.
“What’s your name again?” he asked the tall boy.
“Chad.”
“Chad. Right. I want you to take over for goal for your team, okay?”
The boy nodded and ran back to take over for his team’s goaltender.
Peroxide Woman rose from her seat and stalked toward him. She pulled her big sunglasses down her nose to reveal eyes like shiny blades. She stood in front of him as if fighting a strong wind, her arms wrapped tight around her chest. “Chad’s the best out here. He doesn’t belong in goal. Fat kids go in the net.”
He felt the tingle in his gut again and his jaw tightened. “We’re just trying to spread the wealth around, ma’am. Everybody gets a turn in net. Now if you’ll excuse me, we’re in the middle of a practice game.”
“We’re not trying to do anything. You’re trying to screw Chad over just because you drive about as well you coach.”
His eyes flicked away to all the little witnesses. “Lower your voice and exit the field, please.”
“You haven’t got over our little parking lot drama, have you, Coach? Just yank him out of the net, put him on offense and I’ll go sit down.”
“This is just a practice and it’s for everybody.”
“If he’s stuck in net, it’s a waste of his time. And mine.”
“He’s in Under Seven Soccer. At this stage, it’s fine to waste his time.”
“I’m over seven,” she said.
He looked around, embarrassed. The kids were standing still, watching the argumen
t. Murmurs and whispers came from the assembly of parents in the stands. He called for a break early and directed the kids to the cooler full of water bottles at the edge of the field again. The kids melted away slowly and all the while she stood in front of him with her arms crossed. Jack wondered if anyone had ever refused her anything.
Before he could speak she spun and started heading back to the stands. “Stupid bitch,” she said, loudly enough for all to hear.
She was only two steps away. He hissed his message out to her in a whisper the breeze brought only to her ear. “A-T-A-6-6-7,” he said slowly.
She spun again and headed straight for him, less than a foot from his nose. “What did you say?” Her hands were fists. He expected that at any moment, she would punch him.
“I said, ‘A-T-A 6-6-7.’ ”
“And what am I supposed to think that means, dickhead?”
“It means I know your car. With that I can find your house. In fact, I can find you anywhere.”
She blinked and her mouth dropped.
“Are you actually threatening me?”
She was judge and jury. What she didn’t know was that he was the executioner. Dr. Circe Papua herself had praised him for his skill. He didn’t have the doctor’s gift of persuasion, but perhaps he could borrow a page from her book with effective results.
“You must listen very carefully,” he said.
“Yeah? I must, must I?”
“Shut up. Let me explain something to you.”
“Anything else?” she looked amused.
“People don’t listen,” the bearded man in red had said. And he was so right. People walked around in civilization as if the world had been made safe for them. Nervous little squirrels eating frantically while keeping their eyes sharp for hawk shadows? They understood the world so much better than human prey.
He wanted to slap Peroxide Woman across the face and wipe the blood from her nose on her bleached white sweater.
“I know you,” Jack said. “I see you lots of places. You’re the kind of person who has one attitudinal setting.” He kept his voice low so the kids and the other parents could not hear him. “You don’t have a lot of varied responses. You’re either satisfied things are going perfectly your way or you’re a bitch.”
He was sure she was just on the edge of hitting him then and he wondered what the societal etiquette was. If a woman hits you first, can you defend yourself and hit her back? And what if you lose control, say, and accidentally crush her windpipe in the process with one strike with the heel of your hand? Just because you’re the kids’ friendly soccer coach now doesn’t mean you aren’t also a guy who’s wound so tightly you can hardly wait for Dr. Papua to call on your peculiar talents again.
His head began to throb. He could feel the pulse pounding loudly in his left ear again. It was a danger sign the shrill woman in front of him could not see or hear. If she knew, she’d scurry back to the stands and grab her children and keep running. If this went badly, his mask could fall to the ground. He could turn into the other thing right here and he would be of no use to Dr. Papua in her exploration of the mysteries. He had to tamp down his natural impulses. I am what I pretend to be. Or, like he told the kids in his charge, Use your words.
“You have two choices,” Jack said.
“Get you fired for threatening me or get you arrested for threatening me? I think I’ll do both!”
He stepped close enough he could smell bleach. “It’s just you and me out here, ATA 667. Go ahead and call the police. Then when they let me out, I’ll wait. I could wait a year, maybe two. All the time I’m waiting for my time, you’ll be sweating and wondering. All the time you’ll be checking your back seat and looking over your shoulder. Anything could happen. Your car could blow up or I could come by for a visit over a long weekend when the kids are off on a sleepover. I could just show up with a big screwdriver one day.”
“My husband—”
“Your husband is a minor factor in the equation. Guys who marry women like you? They’re used to taking orders. They don’t get an opinion. They get told. You’ll have beaten him down every day long before I start in on him. I could bend your husband over and do him in the ass while I watch you burn in battery acid. He and I could both enjoy that.”
She made a choking sound. She turned white.
“See, what you don’t know about me is, not so deep down, I’m a pretty angry guy. The world is full of us. I’m the postal carrier you stiffed on a tip last Christmas. I’m the homeless guy with the sign you pretend you don’t see. I’m the miserable poor slob you married who can never do anything right. Right now that poor bastard is surfing porn and dreaming of the freedom he’ll get after you’re dead. At this very moment he’s dreaming of the day you are paralyzed by a stroke so he can have the joy of parking your wheelchair by the remote control and slapping you across the face every time you drool. He doesn’t have the balls to divorce you. Men who marry women like you never leave, but he’s hoping every morning that you’ll fall and hit your useless head and drown in the bathtub. I’ve watched a guy drown in a bathtub. It’s slower than you might think and very interesting to watch.”
Her mouth moved but she made no sound.
“Do you read me?”
She nodded.
“I said, ‘Do…you…read…me?’ ”
“Y-yes.”
He glanced at the crowd. They were watching but he was satisfied there was no way they could hear anything he said.
“I said you have two choices. You want to know what the other one is?”
She said nothing. He didn’t need her to reply to anything he said now. “You can run to old doddering Chief Rose and he’ll come talk to the sweet coach who’s great with the kids —everybody says so — and it will be a he said, bitch on wheels said situation. Then, I can assure you, at some point, something really bad is going to happen. Something so bad you can’t even imagine it yet. Something so bad, I’ll have to take some time to think it through to make sure it lasts a long time when I come calling.”
She was bug-eyed and mouthed the word “Jesus.”
“The second choice — and I bet you’re going to love the second choice — is you turn around and sit back down and let me coach your kid. It’s a long season ahead and I don’t want to hear another fucking peep from you.”
“Okay…okay.” She was shaking. A single tear slid down her cheek.
“Wipe your face. I won’t hurt you as long as you keep your mouth shut. You are a burden to all who know you. I suggest you call Dr. Circe Papua. Call her and make an appointment. She’s an excellent therapist who helps people like you. In fact, I insist you go see her or bad things will certainly happen. If you fuck up and fail to turn your life around, I’ll find out about it. I really hope you do fuck up, ATA667. I want to show you things you’ve never dreamed in your worst nightmares. I’m talking horror movie-level shit storms and rope that bites your wrists. Read me?”
She turned around and began walking back when he hit her with, “Oh, yeah, and clean up your driving. Maybe you should take a defensive driving course to remind you to be courteous to other drivers.”
She slunk toward the stands, her head down.
The rest of the practice went smoothly. He kept Chad in goal for the rest of the game and finished with passing drills. When he blew the final whistle, the humidity had taken its toll and the kids went to their parents soaking wet, their jerseys plastered to their bodies.
Jack watched Peroxide Woman go. He was reminded of Lot’s wife in the story of Sodom. When she ran, her two children in tow, she did not dare look back upon him, the force of God who had chased her away, lest she turn into a pillar of salt.
The pretty young woman appeared at his side. “Hi, I’m Gina. I’m Maddy’s mom.” Jack gave her a smile and shook her hand. I got your schedule in e-mail and I’m first to give out snacks. Any recommendations for what I should bring?”
“Something cold,” he said. “And please, no nuts.”<
br />
“You bet,” she said. “We certainly don’t want any nuts around our kids.” She smiled at him and, in some small seductive gesture, she touched her long brown hair and they both felt self-conscious. “And this is my mother,” Gina said.
The old woman with the stack of curly white hair and the binoculars smiled up at him.
“Oh, hello, ma’am,” he said.
Gina’s hands flew in a mixture of signs Jack had no hope of following and after a moment both women laughed. When they looked at Jack, they gave him kind smiles and he could see the resemblance between the two, despite their age difference. The old woman must have been a beauty once, too.
“Never mind me,” the old woman said in a dysphonic, nasal voice. “I’m just an old deaf woman.” The old woman gave him a wink and clapped him on the shoulder with a surprisingly strong hand. “I can’t hear you, but I read you!”
One of her eyes was shot white with a cataract. The other was dark and pierced him with a knowing look that said conspiratorially, “Hello, brother. Does my mask look right?”
His words to Dr. Papua returned to him: “The world is divided into three categories: The Prey and the Witnesses. And things like me. The Predators.”
We are everywhere.
Vengeance is #1
Fact: Most shrinks—like 99% of them—are nuts. Psychos are attracted to the profession. Here’s how I think it happens: Neurotic parents breed and send their kids into therapy so they can become more like their parents. At first, nobody wants to talk to some useless stranger about why their parents hate them, but why else would parents send their to a psycho therapist? Then the kids start talking and get used to the taste of their bathwater. I, I, I. Me, me, me! Who can resist that?
After all that scab-picking—once the hate is really ingrained—the little patients notice that their therapist has a pretty sweet job. Psychotherapists listen to them go on about how fucked up their parents really are for fifty-five minutes at a time for a whack a cash. What real skills are required besides patience, doodling and the ability to speak the magic words, “How does that make you feel?”
The Dangerous Kind & Other Stories Page 8
