And as soon as Danny had this thought, the fakeness of the town seemed obvious to the point of stupidity: The too-bright soda bottles on a vendor’s cart. The flowers in boxes. The way everyone smiled. Danny stood up. Fear had its cold tongs on him again. But unlike last night, his brain was calm this time, it was making a plan. Because Danny was a fighter. That’s what no one (his pop especially) ever seemed to realize. He wouldn’t go down without a fight.
Danny went back up the street he’d just come down. Knowing the town was a fake made it seem alive to him for the first time. Finally, all those perfect details made some sense.
A lady was pulling down an awning over the antique shop with the globe outside it when Danny got back there.
Danny: Are you closed? I wanted to buy something.
The lady smiled and opened her door. She had buckteeth and red lipstick and shiny black hair. Danny smiled right back at her. So she did speak English, or at least she understood it. Maybe they all did. Hell, maybe they were all Americans putting on accents.
Inside the shop, Danny stepped around the crossbow he’d seen through the window and pointed at a framed map hanging high on a wall, too high to reach. Bingo: the lady went into another room, leaving Danny alone. He glided straight over to the window and swiped one of the hunting knives he’d noticed behind his horrible reflection. It was done in a second. Danny dropped the knife into the inside pocket of his jacket.
It was heavy. He felt the knife pulling at the fabric on his left shoulder and it steadied him the way hearing his own pulse could steady him sometimes. The blade hung directly over his heart.
The lady came back with a ladder and climbed to the top. Her skinny legs wobbled in her high-heeled shoes when she reached for the map. And even though Danny knew she was putting on an act, that she worked for Howard, he held the ladder for her.
The lady lifted the framed map off the wall and handed it down. It was too wide to tuck under an arm; Danny had to spread his arms just to hold it. As soon as he saw it, he recognized the keep—this was a map of Howard’s castle and the hills around it. There were two towns on the map, one of which seemed to be this one; at least the church looked the same. The other town must be Scree-chow-hump.
Danny paid for the map with a hundred cash. A plane ticket was probably out of the question now. Except it always had been—he was trapped here. He was Howard’s prisoner. It felt almost good to admit it.
When Danny left the shop, the town was quiet. He walked slowly back to the square, holding his framed map out in front of him like a shield. The only person left in the square was one of the older soccer boys, still practicing his footwork. The kid glanced at Danny, then looked away—the first person in town to look at him and not smile.
That was the thing about kids. They couldn’t fake it.
Danny shut his eyes, listening to the kid work the ball. He could actually picture the kid’s moves just from the sounds the ball made in the square. That’s what a great player Danny had been, back in the day.
When he opened his eyes, hours had passed. Danny knew from the light, the way it slanted in over the hills, orange and thick as paint. The town was even more crowded now than when he first came. The café chairs were packed with old ladies holding tiny dogs in their laps. There were girls in bright dresses, a guy selling balloons attached to sticks. Everything had that same colorful look, like a picture in a kids’ book that your mom would point to and say, See the dog? See the policeman? See the apples?
Someone was sharing Danny’s bench. He looked over, then pulled himself straight. It was Mick.
Mick (smiling): Good morning.
Danny: Jesus.
Mick: Howard asked me to come down and look for you.
It surprised Danny that Mick would admit this. Was he worried I couldn’t find my way back? It came out snide, mocking.
Mick: I think he doesn’t know what to expect. You’re turning out to be kind of a wild card, you have to admit. Then he laughed. Ah, it’s good for Howard. Keeps him on his toes.
Danny: Yeah, well. He’s keeping me on mine, too.
There was a silence. Danny wasn’t giving anything away. Mick was his enemy’s number two, which meant he was even more dangerous than Howard. Danny should know.
Mick: So, what do you think of this town?
Danny: Very nice.
I always like coming down here. Clears out my head.
Danny waited a minute, then asked: How long have you known my cousin?
Since we were fourteen. Reform school.
This made so much sense that Danny felt like he’d known it before and forgotten.
Danny: Why were you in there?
Mick glanced at him. We were bad. Why else do you go to reform school?
But you got better.
Mick grinned. Howard got better. I got older. He seemed more relaxed now, sitting next to Danny in this fake town, than he had at any other time so far. Danny wondered why.
Mick: I owe your cousin a lot, is the bottom line.
He must owe you, too.
Mick: I keep trying to even things up, but I just get in deeper.
He glanced at Danny, and it was all on the table: everything Danny had heard between Mick and Ann. For some reason, Mick wasn’t holding it against him. The opposite.
Mick: So. You feel like heading back up?
Not really.
Mick took a long breath. Me either.
They sat looking at the square. An old guy was playing a harmonica. Kids chased pigeons around. Danny felt something open up between him and Mick, even without talking. They were alike: two number twos.
Danny: I want to get back to New York. He said this without really deciding to.
Mick: Howard doesn’t like people leaving.
Yeah, I get that feeling.
Makes him feel like he hasn’t done a good enough job. Like he’s been a bad host. Especially now, with your head all busted up. He’ll want you to get better first.
Danny: I feel fine.
Mick turned to him. You looked in a mirror lately?
Danny: Not if I can help it. They started to laugh, and then Mick looked at Danny and laughed again. What did you do to yourself?
Beyond falling head first out a window?
More laughing. Danny felt like he might not be able to stop.
Mick: That would be enough for most people.
Not me. I like to finish a job. Danny fought the laughter. It felt unhealthy, somehow.
Mick: Hey, you want to use this before we go back up?
He was holding out something Danny recognized, but the news of what it was seemed to take a while to reach him. He gaped at the hunk of precious metal in Mick’s hand. A cell phone.
Danny: Where—where did you get this?
Mick laughed. They’re around. It’s not like no one has cell phones, it’s just Howard’s…idea right now. Things come and go with him. Anyway, go ahead and call someone. It’s programmed for the U.S., so you can just dial.
He gave the phone to Danny and crossed the square to the soda cart. When he turned back around, Danny hadn’t moved. He was staring at the phone. It seemed alien, unfamiliar. Mick held up a bright green bottle and waved.
Danny opened the phone. The whole thing felt dreamlike. With a shaking finger, he pushed in Martha’s number at work. A second later he heard her voice in his ear.
Mr. Jacobson’s office.
Danny was too surprised to react. How did he get to Martha so quickly? It seemed impossible.
Martha: Hello?…Hello? I’m not hearing any—
Danny: Martha.
Her whole voice changed. It dropped and seemed to get even closer. Danny, is that you? Are you…oh my God, I’ve been worried out of my mind!
Martha?
Oh, honey. Are you—what the fuck is going on over there?
I’m not sure.
You sound funny.
Danny couldn’t believe it was Martha. It seemed too sudden, too much in denial of how far
away he felt.
Martha?
Danny, it’s Martha. Why do you keep asking?
Tell me something so I’ll know for sure.
There was a pause. Is this a joke? You just called me at my desk and I answered the phone—who the hell else would I be?
Danny wanted to believe her, but it seemed too easy, an impossible wish. You thought of someone and then there they were, talking right into your ear? He said, Tell me something that’ll prove it’s you.
There was a long silence. Finally Martha said, Danny?
Yeah.
You sound different.
I feel different.
You sound…not like you.
Danny: I just need some identifying information.
Martha: Information! Who is this? What kind of information are you trying to get?
It wasn’t Martha, now Danny was sure. It was someone else.
Danny: Anything you feel like telling me.
Where’s Danny? How did you get this number?
I’m Danny. What the fuck are you talking about?
Martha: I don’t believe you’re Danny.
Danny: I don’t believe you’re Martha.
The person on the phone sounded scared. More proof—Martha never got scared. Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. You’ve done something to him, haven’t you?
Danny just listened. The voice was familiar, no question. But it wasn’t Martha. Martha was far away, back in New York.
Martha: Are you still there, you asshole? Is this all about that fucking restaurant? Oh God, did he even get out of New York?
Danny stared at the phone in his hand. How could he tell where the voice was coming from? He looked up at the castle. The sun had moved behind it and it wasn’t gold anymore, it was almost black. Its shadow covered the whole hill and was creeping toward the square. Danny wondered if the voice could be coming from inside it.
Whoever was on the phone had started to cry, or pretend to cry. All right, you fucker, I’m hanging up. But if you have one decent cell in your miserable body, you tell Danny I love him. Martha loves him, you got that? Tell him, you bastard. Now go fuck yourself.
The line went dead. Danny was shaking. He looked across the square without seeing much. Mick was coming back.
Mick: Everything okay?
Danny: Yeah, fine. He almost dropped the phone handing it over.
Mick stood in front of Danny, looking worried. It worked okay? You reached someone?
Danny: Yeah. He felt like he had to say something else, so he added: Girl trouble.
Ah. Okay. Well, I wrote the book on that.
Mick handed Danny a bottle of green soda and Danny took a long slug. The drink was too sweet, but nice and cold. Danny could have drunk forty of them. He felt a sudden coolness. The castle’s shadow had reached the square and was slowly covering it up.
Danny: Are we going back?
Mick: Yeah, I think it’s time. Don’t forget your…whatever that is. He was pointing to the framed map propped against the bench. Danny had forgotten it.
Danny: I don’t care about that. I’ll just leave it here. But he could see from Mick’s expression that that was a weird thing to do, so he hefted up the map. It was incredibly awkward to carry.
Mick: What is this thing? He took the map from Danny and looked it over. Oh, boy. Howard’s gonna love this.
Danny: We aim to please.
Mick looked surprised, then he laughed. Here, I’ll take it. His arms were long enough that he could wedge the whole frame underneath one of them. Danny carried his shoulder bag.
They headed back up the hill. Danny was limping worse than ever, maybe from sitting down for so long.
Mick: By the way, I got your other boot off that windowsill on the keep. It’s in your room.
Danny didn’t understand what Mick was saying at first. He had to think: Boot. Window. Keep. Then he was too overwhelmed to answer. It was a while before he said, Thanks.
No problem.
They walked a long time without talking. It was an easy silence. Gradually the trees started closing in around them, cutting out the light. The air got cold. Danny remembered the knife in his pocket. It tugged his coat with every step he took.
Danny: You were a junkie, right?
Mick turned to him, still walking. He looked surprised, and Danny wondered if he shouldn’t have said it.
Mick: Am.
Still?
It’s forever. Like love. And then he laughed.
You miss it?
Every fucking minute.
Which part?
Mick: That’s a good question. He thought a while. I miss the…equations, I guess you’d say. This many dollars buys you this, which gets you this many hours of high before you need another hit, which’ll cost you this. The counting, you know? I like to count.
Danny: You could count other stuff.
Mick: I count everything. I’m counting our words. I’m counting my steps. I’m counting the trees.
What do you do with all the numbers?
Mick laughed. Do with them? Nothing. I forget them. It’s all just a way of not going nuts.
Danny felt the castle before they got there—a low vibrating hum coming up through his feet. Then the gate loomed over them, the same one he’d tried to find a way through that first night. Mick went around the side of it and opened a door Danny hadn’t seen. So there it was, finally. The way in.
Before he went through, Danny stopped. Mick?
Mick turned around.
Danny: Why can’t you leave?
Why can’t I…?
Leave. The castle.
Ah. You picked that up.
Big-time.
Well. I resent it.
Sure, but why can’t you?
Mick left the doorway and came to where Danny was standing. The branches hung low over their heads, and Danny smelled pine.
Mick: I’m on parole. I did five years for trafficking, and I got released four months ago into Howard’s custody so I could come here and work. I can’t go anywhere unless Howard goes with me. See, I owe him again.
I don’t know. Sounds like he owes you.
No. No, it’s not like that. I resent it, so I’m putting a spin on it, but Howard’s doing me the favor. It’s a huge responsibility. If I violate my parole, he has to deal with bringing me back and notifying the board. And from my point of view, you can’t get a job as a felon. Like, can’t. Period. It’s—it’s a lot more than I deserve, what he’s doing.
Danny: Okay.
He followed Mick through the doorway into a shady passage paved with cobblestones. Inside the castle walls it was almost dark. Danny felt the beginning of fear, that ice in his chest. He touched the knife through his coat.
At the end of the passage was a second door leading into the castle itself. Mick put down the map and dug in his pocket for the key. He was sweating. Danny looked at his cashed-out face and felt an ache. All that struggle, all that failure. And now Mick was under Howard’s thumb. You poor shit, Danny thought.
Mick found the key and opened the door. There was a short, strange time when he and Danny just stood there, waiting to go in.
Mick: Okay. Home sweet home.
There’s a tube coming out of my gut, that much I know. When I ask why it’s there, I get: Complications from the second surgery.
Second surgery? What about the first one?
The first one was just to get the knife out. They did that right away the day you came in, from the ER.
It’s my favorite nurse talking, Hannah. There are rules about talking to convicts, but Hannah wrote her own rulebook and that’s the one she follows. To hear her tell it, the doctors and nurses are all under her direct command. If she doesn’t know them, it’s because they’re too far down on the totem pole.
I love you, Hannah, I tell her. I say this a lot, but I’m not sure exactly how much I say it. My memory is shot from all the drugs.
She rolls her eyes, but you can tell she likes it.
She calls me LB for Lover Boy. You love the morphine, she says, that’s what you love.
She’s right. But they never give you enough morphine, and there’s plenty of Hannah. You can’t ask a lady what she weighs, but I’m guessing three-fifty. And all that fat looks fantastic on her, like some thick gorgeous robe that only the queen can wear.
Hannah, I say. Why did they have to operate just to pull out a shank?
And right then I get a feeling I have a lot, something nudging me from inside my brain, and I wonder if we’ve had this whole conversation before, Hannah and I. Maybe a few times, or more than a few. But she never lets on.
It was one of those nasty shanks, she says, which I know means a Christmas tree. Christmas trees have prongs angled along the sides so when you pull one out it brings a good chunk of your guts out with it. But Tom-Tom never got a chance to pull it out—Davis took him down first. Which means buggy Davis saved my life.
So they what, they cut it out? I ask Hannah.
That’s what surgeons do: they cut. It’s not rocket science. It’s not even complicated, like what we do up here. But it has to be done right.
This whole time, she’s working. Changing bags of stuff, adjusting monitors, responding to a lot of boings and beeps. The room is dingy. The walls are the color of skin. Dustballs crowd up the corners. But Hannah brings it up a notch just by being here.
And what did they do in the second operation?
They were supposed to refine what the first team did. Smooth out some of those rough edges that got left behind because the situation was urgent.
So why the tube?
Her mouth flattens out. Hannah’s mad about the tube. It’s a lot of work for her: cleaning it, monitoring it, doing whatever needs to be done to whatever comes out of it. I’m not sure what that is, exactly. There’s so much stuff coming out of me I’ve lost track.
The Keep Page 16
