Luke tries to swat him with his free arm but because he has to turn it backward, he doesn’t have the power to push the big dog away. He keeps shaking his head, hoping the dog will get discouraged.
It doesn’t really matter. Luke is overjoyed. The dog means there is a human in the vicinity. He’s saved. It makes him feel good enough to smile at the big, dumb animal, who is waiting for the chance to jump in and lick him again.
Luke begins to shout, “Help! Help! I’m trapped in the sewer! Hello! Help me!”
The dog is stunned and pulls back, his tail sliding down between his legs as if he were being reprimanded. He starts to back away, edging toward the opening of the sewer.
“It’s okay, boy. It’s okay, come here. C’mon, boy, c’mon.” Luke calls the dog in his friendliest voice, even smiles to make it more welcoming.
But the dog is nervous. He doesn’t like being yelled at. It frightens him. He stands at the entrance for another instant and then suddenly, as if he had heard a whistle, he snaps his head up and listens. Waiting. An instant later, he bolts.
Luke shouts after him, “Come back! Help! Help!”
He doesn’t stop yelling and shouting for many minutes. His throat is raw and burning. After a couple of minutes, he calls out again.
And he waits. And waits.
No one comes. The dog whistle must have been from so far away only the sharp ears of an animal could have heard it. Too much of a distance for anyone to hear Luke’s shouts, shouts that were mostly sucked into the depths of the tunnel to meet the echo.
Still, it’s only a matter of time now. People do use the beach, they walk their dogs and fish and swim and …
That’s when Luke remembers the sign about the beach being closed for renovations. Last night it was welcome. He and Daisy needed the privacy. Today …
No, he isn’t worried. Nobody pays attention to those signs. He and Daisy didn’t. And even if the regular people don’t come, at least the workers will. They probably start early, maybe eight or so. Luke figures it’s near seven o’clock by now.
It takes a little more figuring to realize that it’s Saturday. There won’t be any workers.
Weird calamities like this only happen to other people. It’s a paragraph at the bottom of an unimportant page in a newspaper. Man trapped in rain sewer under a hundred pounds of beams and assorted shit. It doesn’t say about the terror or the pain, how everything hurts.
To bring absolute reality to it, the most intense pain is the one he’s brought on himself: a hangover the size of his own dear Australia that burns against his eyeballs with thumping spasms. Each pull feels like his brain is being ripped from his skull. On top of that is his nearly intolerable thirst.
When Luke finishes his litany of complaints he latches on to the best possibility: it’s all a dream. He’s going to wake up.
When that possibility is quickly exhausted—you don’t feel in a dream—there’s always the silver linings: the rescue. Anybody but the police. Actually, even they wouldn’t be a problem. He’d just say he’d been trapped for a couple of hours. No big deal. He’d give them his new name.
Still it would be better if the police didn’t find him. Maybe a fisherman or a dog walker or—Daisy.
Daisy …
Even under these miserable circumstances, the thought of Daisy is surprisingly pleasant; better than that, exciting.
What would his friend Hank think of Daisy? So what, he’s never going to meet her. Maybe Luke’ll never see her again either. She said those kids knew her. Not good in a small town like this.
Just the thought of his best friend is enough to make his misery even worse. Incredible how he manages to screw up even the best things in his life.
Hank. He and Luke had only known each other for a couple of years, but the friendship started strong and stayed that way. It had happened fast, too, practically right from the first time they met at Shorty’s bar in Century City.
It was afternoon. Luke was waiting around for an audition for yet another part he didn’t get. Hank was just killing time between the matinee and evening performances at the Shubert Theater a few blocks away where he was working as an assistant stage manager. Had been for three years but now, he said, a small theater in Pomona was offering him full stage manager. He was probably going to take it. His real ambition was to be a director, and this would be a good start.
They started out bullshitting, bar talk, but right away they were comfortable. Luke remembers how they had talked for at least two hours, just the two of them. Then Hank had to go to the head and Luke was standing there alone and he looked around and realized that he’d been so involved in his conversation that he hadn’t even seen how crowded the bar had gotten.
It was just like meeting a woman you were attracted to for the first time with a million words exploding out of you.
From there on, they became best friends, buddies, talking on the phone every day. They saw each other at least four times a week. Hank was the only real friend Luke had made since coming to the States. They had the same sense of humor and loved the set-up stuff. The scam game—not for money, just for the hell of it. To see how outrageous they could be. It was amazing where you could take ordinary regular people. And it was easy. If you stayed normal, you could be wildly ludicrous.
Being with Hank was the best part of Luke’s time in LA. Nothing else worked like those little scenarios in the bar. They’d do a variation on the Lazarillo de Tormes tales. Hank introduced Luke to the Spanish short stories of the cruel master and miserable servant. Of course, with Hank directing. Only this time they were brothers, but like the sixteenth-century stories, the cruel master, Luke, would be blind. Hank played the perfect servant, groveling, toadying, finally annoying. Once they got the other bar patrons into the stream of their trust they could easily manipulate them. With a little imagination, it was a lesson on the human condition. Or an Arthur Miller playwriting course.
From the first, all the sympathy would go to Luke. Everyone went out of his way to make the blind man comfortable. But Luke’s cruelty to his brother began to make them uneasy. Luke liked to watch how long it took them to turn. In the beginning they would try to laugh it off, give a little leeway to the handicapped. Then Luke would step up the cruelty until he felt their mood shift. When they soured enough, he would reinforce it, telling a little of Hank’s background. How Hank had never worked a day in his life. All he did was lie around the house until their father threw him out. He landed in the gutter and that’s where he’d lived for five years. Dirty, smelly, too lazy to even collect cans.
Despite the fact that Hank was neatly dressed in jeans and a clean T-shirt, his supporters would begin to edge away as if he still carried the stench of encrusted filth from the street. All pity vanished. A criminal couldn’t have repelled them more.
How easy it was to take away someone’s humanity, Luke thought. No wonder societies could be so easily manipulated.
Somebody once told Luke he should take acting lessons because he had the looks for Hollywood. Why would he need lessons if he could fool real people into thinking he was blind? Hell, he could do it for a whole afternoon without a script. In fact, that was what killed his acting, things like scripts and preparation, artificiality. Luke could only act if it was real.
Hank said there were teachers who worked like that, reality based. He was going to ask around and find one. Being a stage manager, he worked with actors all the time, often reading with them when they auditioned. He knew what he was talking about. Maybe that would have been the answer for Luke.
What the hell, it didn’t matter now; he’d never see Hank again. Hank would never want to see him. That was the worst part—screwing his best friend over. It wasn’t just the betrayal. Hank could lose all the collateral he’d put up to make Luke’s bail. His car, maybe even his condo.
Yeah, but one day, Luke would make it all up to him. As
soon as he got some money, the first thing he would do was pay back every penny Hank had spent. And more.
Christ, he’d had no choice but to jump bail. Well, technically he hadn’t yet jumped because the trial date wasn’t until July 17 and this was only what? The first? Still, by even leaving the state, he was in violation. But it didn’t matter; there was no way he was going back to California.
By now, of course, Hank would know. Soon as he called and found out Luke’s phone went straight to voicemail he would figure out that he jumped bail. Luke couldn’t bear to think of how Hank would take it.
Maybe Hank would understand. He knew better than anyone that it was just a bad-luck accident. Actually, it was the other guy’s fault. Luke was acting in self-defense. The guy had a knife. What was he supposed to do?
Okay, yeah, they’d pulled the bar trick on that guy. It wasn’t just Luke; Hank was in on it too. It was so fucking harmless. Besides, the penalty for fooling somebody isn’t supposed to be getting arrested. It’s just a joke, but that dumb son-of-a-bitch with the knife who followed them out of the bar didn’t get it.
On his own, the guy wasn’t such a danger. He was actually shorter than Luke and kind of slight, but he was in a rage and coming at Luke with a knife. Luke was never looking for a fight; what he did was pure self- defense. He just kicked, not even a real kick, more like a shove with his foot. Didn’t even touch the guy with his fist. The guy went down, tripping over his own foot. Funny, Luke had almost reached out to grab him.
But he didn’t. And the guy fell backward. Before he could hit the ground, his head smashed into the top of a fire hydrant.
If only Luke had reached out and caught him. Luke was always the kind of person who would help if someone fell or needed assistance crossing the street; it felt natural to respond. Maybe that was Australian, or just small town. And this time he was close enough to have grabbed the front of the guy’s shirt and pulled him back. That’s all it would have taken. That small move, a split second, and the guy would be fine. It would be nothing. How can such a crucial difference be so small, a little twist one way or the other? Except, maybe it wouldn’t have been so fine if he had grabbed him; maybe it could have been Luke in the coma.
Still, if only he had trusted his first instinct and grabbed him …
It all happened in less than a minute, there on the street in front of the bar. A million people around, then nobody. Nobody except that one woman, and she saw it all, but by the time the police and the ambulance came she’d disappeared. Hank had asked her what her name was, but later when they tried to look for her, they couldn’t find her. It was probably a phony name. Like most people, she just didn’t want to be involved. But if she knew how important it was …
Hank said not to worry, that the police would find her, but Luke wasn’t going to gamble on it. Of course, Hank was a witness, but he was also a friend. A good friend, the kind who’d put up bail for you. The kind who’d lie for you.
And then later what would happen when the police got around to the guys in the bar? They’d all say that Luke and Hank, both of them, were liars. Try to tell a jury it was just for fun. Just a playwriting experiment. Additionally, he’d overstayed his visa by like two years. Not good.
No, there was no way Luke could take that chance. Now it was an assault charge, but even if the guy died, it wouldn’t be murder, it would be an involuntary manslaughter charge. And only the other guy’s prints were on the knife. That would show if it wasn’t an accident, it was self-defense. Still, you never knew what could happen.
Maybe the guy’s family would get some hotshot lawyer. Maybe they’d never find the female witness. Maybe, maybe, maybe. There were crazy things out there waiting to happen. Luke wasn’t going to take the chance of hitting his own head on a fucking fire hydrant. He wasn’t going to put his life on the line for another crazy shot out of the blue. So as soon as Hank bailed him out, Luke disappeared, headed straight for New York. A city you could get lost in.
But only if you don’t fall asleep in a goddamn truck full of seafood and lose everything you own and then get yourself trapped in a rain sewer.
Jesus, how the hell did he get into this stupid situation? If it wasn’t so tragic and didn’t hurt so much, it would be laughable.
As long as he doesn’t move, the pain in Luke’s body is beginning to abate, lowering into achiness, although his head is still pounding. The familiarity of the hangover keeps things in perspective.
Just then he catches sight of two men. He has to twist his head to see around the side of the beam. But there they are, wearing T-shirts and jeans, no fishing poles, just standing at the water’s edge right in front of him. In front of him—but maybe fifty feet away and facing the water.
“Hello! Help! Help!” Luke shouts. “Over here! In the sewer!” Why the hell don’t they turn?
Could the tunnel be muffling his cries? He keeps shouting as loud as he can, but still they don’t turn. They’re talking, the two guys. In fact, from their body language and the fury with which they’re nodding and shaking their heads, they could be arguing. Sons of bitches, they’re so caught up in their own crap they aren’t even paying attention to his cries.
“Help! Help! I’m trapped! I’m dying!”
Still, they don’t turn. What the hell is the matter with them? Luke keeps shouting. Suddenly one man turns.
Thank God!
And looks right in his direction. “Help! Help! Over here!”
Then the other one turns. And the first one says something. With his hands. And the other signs his answer. And then they go back to their conversation, cooled down now, as they begin to walk down the beach in the other direction.
No!
“Are you friggin’ deaf?” Luke screams after them.
Fuck! Now he has to pee. The idea of pissing himself changes everything. Trapped in a rain sewer—that has a certain romance to it. Pissing yourself turns it into something ugly, like a homeless bum on the street. Like the character Hank played in the bar.
The shame is too great. He’ll have to hold it in until someone finds him, until he can stand up and piss like a man.
Judging from the time that has passed since dawn, Luke figures it’s about eight or nine o’clock. The sun isn’t sharp enough for him to read the angle and unfortunately his watch is on his right wrist, the one pinned under the wood. That’ll teach him. Why doesn’t he wear his watch on his left hand like everyone else? Years ago, when he got his first watch, his left wrist was in a cast from a bike accident. Who knew one day it was going to matter so much.
He can see it isn’t going to be a great day weather-wise. In fact, it looks like it could rain. That wouldn’t be good for Luke. People don’t walk on the beach in the rain.
What the hell, though? Somebody has to come. People are everywhere. Hardly any empty places left. Go try to find a deserted beach to fuck on. Next thing you know, a bunch of kids will be pelting you with stones.
Someone has to come soon. Soon.
Luke’s head still hurts but even that begins to quiet down. He could almost sleep if he didn’t have to pee so badly. If someone doesn’t come soon, he’ll be out of luck.
The thought makes him smile. Beautiful; a guy trapped under all this shit worrying about being out of luck. How much more out of luck could he be?
When he thinks of luck, an image of Daisy flashes through his mind. Meeting Daisy, that was lucky.
Then the thunder comes, a loud clap followed by a bolt of lightning streaking across what Luke can see of the sky. At least he’s out of the rain.
Another roar of thunder and more flashes of lightning. The drops begin to fall. The heavy raindrops fall straight down, each making a small plop as it hits the sand.
In no more than a moment, Luke becomes aware of water touching his right arm, the one pinned to the ground by the beam. Another instant and the water moves past his arms
, wetting the sides of his face.
What the hell?
Almost instantly the sewer is running with nearly half a foot of water. As the current gets stronger, it picks up small pieces of stones and shells that graze Luke’s body.
A rain sewer can run for miles and collect water as fast as it falls, sending it rushing toward the sea. In this case, toward the bay off Shorelane, Long Island.
Quickly, Luke realizes both the danger and the potential advantage. The water will lighten the weight of the wood and cement and give him a chance to free himself.
The danger: it could just as easily drown him.
The thought of such a death puts Luke into a frenzy. He struggles to wrestle his arms and legs out from under the accumulation, but most of the pile is above the water level and no lighter than before. Only his body is low enough to be immersed in the water. The weight of the fallen debris digs him into the sand, making him lower than the surrounding ground. The water begins to form a pool around him. Luke’s folded jacket sweeps away, riding the bubbles of foam; the empty space under his head fills with water.
Panic leaves Luke gasping for breath. In order to keep his nose and mouth free, he has to keep his head bent backward and his chin as high as possible, putting his forehead underwater.
And no matter how he struggles, the current only grows stronger. The rainwater is now a rushing river. Luke’s shoes slide off and sail down to the sea like little boats.
With his eyes underwater, Luke doesn’t see the surge in the river; a wave rushes over his face, catching him in the middle of a breath and sending water up his nose. His head shoots up to reach for air but the water is too high. Luke’s free arm waves back and forth desperately. Again, he reaches up with his head and this time breaks through the surface, sputtering and coughing and frantically sucking at the air.
Then, fast as it started, the downpour stops. Almost instantly, the water level drops. Within moments, it’s down to a trickle.
Luke can’t catch his breath or stop the wracking coughs. Each time he coughs, his head shoots up with such force that he expects his neck to snap. Finally, he gathers enough strength to vomit up the water and clear his lungs.
Little Crew of Butchers Page 5
