Don't Get Fancy Nancy

by Mark Fitzgerald

  I really wanted to play with the gun but I thought I might wait. Nancy wasn't talking. We were both focused on the booty in the treasure box. And there was treasure. After a quick count we were in possession of two thousand dollars. Last was a small pocket notebook. The size that would fit in the breast pocket of an overcoat. Like a detective carries. This one was already filled in. Nearly every page.

  Nancy did not need to read it right now. It was her instructions from her dad… for when "just in case" came up if it ever did. And it had.

  "Follow me." She scooted down the hall to her room and started making a pile of clothes on her bed. It was getting to be a huge pile. "We'll have to get out of here in just a few minutes. They may come back for me."

  "What do you mean "we"? How do I figure into this?" Then I got petulant and even embarrassed myself, "What don't go ask one of your other boys to help you".

  "You're the one I like Mark. Did you forget that?"

  I'm in!!!

  "That's too much clothing, Nancy."

  "I'm packing for two, Mark". Which made sense and was not impractical given her wardrobe was essentially identical to mine and we were the same size. Puny.

  "Go down stairs and get the back packs." I knew where to look. These were the packs we donned for our hikes, regardless of how empty they were at the time.

  When I got back with the packs and as she was stuffing them ……. she was stuffing girl panties into mine. Which I guess makes sense. I guess. She began the "back-story".

  "My Dad's a spy… was a spy…maybe is a spy. I don't know. Have you ever heard of a "witness protection" programme." I nodded a big no. What is the opposite of nodding. What is perpendicular nodding? Anyway, she understood and went on. "It's when the government relocates you to someplace safe and gives you a new identity so people that might want to get even with you can't find you and kill you. That's why we live in Calgary. That's why I sound different to you than the other kids. I'm not a Canadian. I'm not even sure if my name is real. The Nancy part is, I know. Dad told me about it this summer. He didn't tell Todd. He said if Todd knew anything they would get it out of him. They wouldn't expect me to know anything so once they were sure about Todd they would leave me alone. Maybe. Dad told me about the hiding place and that I was to go there if anything happened to him. He also said to go to your old house and stay a few days until someone comes for you. "

  "Nancy, why did they leave you?"

  "They didn't know I was home. Nobody did. I was in the cave. Reading James Bond. I was reading a spy novel, "Goldfinger". I heard them come in and I heard all the shouting and orders and I just knew that I had to stay quiet. "

  I am a quick study, as they say. I had heard enough to realize that we really needed to be going. "Let's get out of here."

  "Wait Mark… think for a second! What should we take besides clothes?"

  "Camping stuff I guess…. a couple of knives and forks ... spoons…. matches…. cookies…. a can of beans or whatever. Toothbrush?"

  We gathered up what we thought we would need for the immediate moment and left childhood behind us forever.

  It was close to a two mile trek, straight into the wind and over snow covered dirt roads and fields for the last half mile. Even with the paved highway, we waded through the snow well off to the shoulder to protect ourselves from the headlights of the cars punching through the darkness.

  Funny, being in the dark but open space didn't seem too scary. The moonlight on the snow mitigated that. But approaching that forlorn house concealing rooms much, much darker than the outdoors was frightening. Funny how shelter can be frightening. I think I would have preferred to simply sleep outside on the leeward side of the house than actually go in. But not in the dead of a Canadian winter. Summer, sure.

  The flashlight had been her idea. And a good idea. Not much of a flashlight, though. It was one of the barrel type with the two D size batteries in the handle that put out a narrow and limp little beam that could scarcely cross a dark room. We had already turned it on… for the comfort it brought. We could see fine outside but as we approach the house we needed "something". Neither of us made way for the front door. Somehow that seemed too bold an entrance. Somehow, slipping in the back door made more sense; like we could retain control.

  There was a huge snow drift at the backdoor, that we had to clear first. Of course. We cleared enough to open the old screen door just enough to slip past it and open the main door. I went first. But not without abject fear. The darkness, the stillness, the dull cold of the house was like the grave I guess you could say. Like an arctic tomb.

  To step through the doorway is to step right into the kitchen. And to see clear through the house into the other room, the living room.

  All our housekeeping of two summers ago had been undone since. There was junk everywhere. Mostly discarded food packaging. I even saw some one those "rubber" things. I hoped Nancy didn't see it and I kicked it to the corner first chance I got.

  "I'm not going to be comfortable until we check upstairs, you know."

  "Me neither, Nancy." This part was going to be creepy. Horror movie creepy. Lord how those weathered old steps creaked. If there was anyone or anything upstairs we were not going to surprise it. Narrow as the stairs were we actually climbed them abreast of each other. Taking the lead or taking the rear was equally frightening. I had the flashlight. Nancy had a stick. The upstairs floor plan was simple enough. A single landing straight ahead with three doorways off of it. Of course one doorway was closed. It just had to be. The door to the bathroom, straight ahead was wide open. What a mess. And it smelled of cold poop and pee. We could see immediately into the one bedroom. Same litter as everywhere else. Nothing more.

  One more door.

  It taunted us. It defied us. It denied us.

  It scared us. Mutely.

  It had no handle at all but it was still closed tight against the frame. Maybe the house had settled and the door had become wedged shut. With our breath held, I pushed against the door slightly. Nothing. I pushed harder. Nothing. Finally, I pushed as hard as I could and it budged but redoubled its resistance and snapped back against the frame. There was no scenario I could imagine how a door could be held fast to the frame from the inside except if…..

  "Let's not."

  Why we tiptoed, as we retreated away from the door and down the stairs is beyond me. I guess it just seemed "respectful". Respectful of a presence that may or may not (probably not) be holding that door closed.

  When we got to bottom of the stairs, "We can't go anywhere else right now." She was right. We would just be vigilant. The house was totally silent all the time. Floors creaked. We would hear any movement from upstairs… besides, we had contented ourselves not to search the basement from the outset. We could bar the door leading to the basement easy enough.

  It was my idea to scatter loose junk on the stairs. A tripping hazard hopefully… a noise maker at the least.

  The old house had a fireplace and there was enough junk to sustain a fire well into the night and to take the worst part of the chill away. It cast a beautiful glow across the parlor. It felt like a parlor, like in books I’d read. Modern houses have living rooms. We had a parlor. All in all, it was probably sort of like they call romantic. When you could stop worrying about the room upstairs.

  We crawled into our sleeping bags fully clothed but Nancy suggested an adjustment of sorts. They could zip together to form a much larger bag than wouldn't be so confining, and practically speaking, sharing our respect body heat was prudent. Prudent/prudish. Funny how close those words are.

  It was distracting…. being that close to Nancy. It caused a reaction that was embarrassing but discretely concealed. In the crisp coolness of the parlor she seemed to have a scent. I'd never noticed a person's scent. I couldn't breath enough of it in nor deep enough to satisfy my craving of it.

  By the light of the fireplace we read the little notebook her dad had left her. This is what is said.
/>   Dear Sweet Nancy,

  First thing. Do not be scared. I can take care of myself and mommy and Todd. I am good at this kind of thing. They are not going to kill me or mommy or Todd…. unless they think they will get caught. So it is most important of all that they do not feel threatened. THAT IS WHY YOU CANNOT GO TO THE POLICE. This is probably most important of all. I have been in danger many times before and I ALWAYS get out okay. Trust me. You have plenty of money. And you have a gun. On the last few pages of this notebook I have made some notes on how to load the gun and how not to hurt yourself. And how to hurt others. Let me tell this… it is okay to shoot someone who is threatening you. Don't wait. Just do it. Shoot for the body. All you want to do is stop someone. Then if you have too you can kill then with a shot to the head. Don't be afraid. I've done it. It's not that bad. Sometimes you have to.

  I am not going to tell you a whole lot about my past because if you get caught they will get it out of you. If you know nothing they will sense it and leave you alone. That's why Todd knows nothing of any of this. They would rip it out of him if they thought he had knowledge.

  By the way the little gun is a Beretta just like your hero James Bond. ha ha.

  Here is a phone number. Memorize it. And then tear out and destroy this page. Call this number from a pay phone. Ask to speak to Mister Brown. Do not answer any questions. If they seem to be delaying you hang up and call from a different phone. The only thing to tell them is that you are Alice and Mister Brown is expecting your call. We he answers say "This is Alice… I'm down the hole". Then hang up. Don't let them trick you into staying on the line. Just hang up and go somewhere else.

  Now this is the most important part and I should have said so at first. Be sure you make the call from someplace close enough to home that you can get back to the house within no more than ten minutes.

  Stay near the house, BUT OUT OF SIGHT, for at least a couple of hours. I hope you are not reading this in the winter!!! If no one shows up to the house then it will mean that Mister Brown is responsible for taking us. If no one shows up you have to make another call. Memorize this number too. Ask for Mr. White and tell him the same thing you told Mister Brown. Then hang up and get to someplace safe where you can stay for a week or two. The best place is the old house you and Mark play in. Don't worry about me. I will get away and I will find you. I am good at this kind of thing. And Nancy…. DON'T GET FANCY NANCY….. do everything just like I said to do it. No improvising… okay.

  Love you with all my heart,

  DAD

  "Do you think he knew he made a poem there... don't get fancy Nancy?" She looked at me, like she often does. With a look that says…"do ya think????"

  I guess I should think.

  We eaten two entire tubes of saltine crackers... each. Shared a can of Coke. It was probably ten o'clock at most. Early… yet we were tired.

  "Let's take turns sleeping. You can go first, Mark. I'll wake you in a couple of hours." I rolled over putting my back toward her. She kissed the back of my head … and I had that reaction again.

  It was dark when I next stirred. But it was dark because of the winter solstice. It was already eight am the next morning. Nancy was sound asleep. Ha... she drools. Cute anyway. Frozen drool.

  I just lay there. In the heaven that was a shared sleeping bag. I listened to Nancy sleep.

  I was starting also to think about my parents. They would be worried. Even Dad. Even Dad's girlfriend maybe. Ha!

  I am sure that soon enough they would realize that Nancy wasn't around either. Maybe that would comfort them a bit. Make them think that I hadn't been hurt in some accident or kidnapped… maybe. At least it would give them something to fuss over other than the fact they hate each other so much. I actually don't think they do. I think my dad is just being a dick, right now.

  Nancy bolted right out of her sleep. I am sure she fell asleep very soon after me and that was it for the night watch plans. Just as well. We clearly had been alone in the house all night. I was glad that had been determined.

  "I have to go pee."

  "Me too," I said. "You can go first… I can hold it still."

  When my turn came I was shocked to see a little yellow hole in the snow not a yard from the door. I put a little more distance between the house and my splattering.

  "We need to make that call. How about at the McDonalds at the North Hill Mall. We can eat and we can get back to my house in ten minutes or less." A perfect plan.

  She went on though. "We need to try the gun. I think we need it with us always and we need to know how to load it and shoot it."

  I agree and couldn't wait for "school" to start. She followed the instructions, which she also read aloud for my benefit. It wasn't complicated. Nancy gave me one of her stern looks and said, "Don't forget about the safety and do what my dad said, NEVER point it at someone you aren't ready to kill."

  I just shrugged my shoulders up to my ears and back. Okay.

  "We'll try in the basement. Nobody will hear then." Descending the stairs to the dark and scary basement with a loaded Beretta was not too intimidating.

  Of course it would have been had we known he was down there.

  I think Nancy fired the gun even before her scream passed her lips. The troll, white hair and hunched over shrieked and rolled to cover behind the huge rusty water heater. Then, in the most timid of voices the troll said, "Please, don't shoot me. I would never hurt anyone."

  It's hard to imagine shaking harder than we were right then. The gun waggled spastically in Nancy's tiny hand. We couldn't catch our breath let alone address the monster.

  The monster spoke first as he peered around the heater tank. "I'm Steve. Hobo Steve... that's all. You don't need to protect yourself. I didn't hurt you last night.. so why would I hurt you know?"

  I managed… "You were in the house?"

  "Well of course I was... who else was holding that door shut?"

  "How did you get down here?"

  "Same as you son... down two flights of stairs. I was hoping you two would just take off and I doubted you'd have the nerve to check out this dark old basement. I don't think you kids should be here and I don't think you should have a gun. Well maybe you should if you're gonna sleep in old hobo shacks in the middle of the winter. Can I sit down., standings pretty hard for me? "

  I guess it was one of those questions that you don't really expect an answer to. He hobbled around the tank toward this old upside down pail. He was actually quite normal except for the fact that he was bent over at the waist until his head was at his belly button and he walked really with only one leg. The other just dragged behind him. Bent over or not, he was tiny. Not much bigger than us really. But he was also handsome. Incredibly blue eyes. Whitish/grey hair. Dingy but intact teeth. And dimpled cheeks. He could have been a movie star at some point in his life; unless he had always been hunched over like that.

  Nancy had recovered. Good thing we had a good pee just moments before.

  "So, you kids getting into the hobo business? It's not as glamorous as it appears. And I'm even good at it. I can show you the ropes. " Steve, the Hobo was grinning. Steve, the Hobo, was pretty funny and pretty charming and not, most likely, the least bit dangerous.

  "Do you live here Steve?" asked Nancy.

  "Just in the winter... ski season."

  We all laughed. Nancy.. not so much. She has a stick up her bum sometimes. But she gets things done.

  "Steve," asked Nancy,"Can we stay with you for a while?"

  "If you stop trying to kill me. I can't feed you though… I can barely feed myself. I don't think I am getting enough vegetables in my diet."

  "We can feed ourselves. We can feed you too since you're letting us stay here."

  I liked Steve. So did Nancy and Nancy saw the advantage I didn't. We were kids; we would need an adult somewhere along the line and Steve was perfect. Nancy filled Steve in on everything; which was not a lot but was all we knew so far. He didn't know how he co
uld be of service but he said he was delighted to be a part of something and to have a couple of friends for a while.

  Steve knew this general area well. He panhandled. He had a sign that said "WILL WORK FOR FOOD". That seemed like a funny way to ask for money but he said it seemed to work even though people could tell that Steve has not really able to do much, all hunched over like he was.

  It was a long trek back to the neighborhood but Steve didn't slow us down at all. He'd been crippled so long that he had figured out how to walk fast and painlessly. We asked him to help us with the phone call and he was frank with us. "I'm usually working this time of day. If I don't work I don't eat. Well that’s not the total truth," he said as we trudged along. "I'm a bit of a drunk, I guess. So I probably spend more on whiskey than I do for food. I don't really have much of a choice anymore. If I don't work today I won't have whisky."

  It was her's to offer and she said immediately, "That's cool, I'll buy it... well, you know... you buy and I'll pay for it.

  The McDonalds was within ten minutes of Nancy's house. Fifteen maybe for Steve. Nancy told Steve about the bus shelter just a couple of house down from hers. He could wait there all day and watch for action at Nancy's house. Probably two or three hours would be all that was needed.

  We would give him fifteen minutes to get in place before we made the call. But first we dined like kings. Most all of the staff knew Steve by name. He was a regular. He was very frugal and really knew his way around the dollar menu items. Not today though. Nancy insisted and Steve had his first super size Big Mac combo in years. I ate two fish fillets things. I just love that sauce. Nancy's just a meat and bun type. I hope she would broaden herself later, when we got married.

  Steve took off and we waited for what we thought was about ten minutes. The telephone was in the little hallway that leads to the restrooms. It was quiet. If Nancy was nervous you couldn't tell and she even huskied up her voice until she sound almost grown up.