Little Crew of Butchers

by Francine Pascal

  “Put it over there,” Larry orders, pointing to a clump of grass. “You know, your sister’s a pain in the ass. Can’t you ever leave her home? Just tell ’em you don’t wanna bring her. Or maybe you should stay home.”

  “Yeah,” the twins say in unison.

  “Shut up, assholes.” Charley turns on them. Then to Larry, “I’m talking to my parents tonight. I’m telling them they gotta get someone to watch her or something.”

  Larry is always saying Charley should leave Lucy at home. And Charley is always saying he’s going to talk to his parents. Nothing Charley would like better than to leave her home. So what if his parents have to work? He’ll help pay for a babysitter with some money out of his allowance. He’s going to tell them no ten-year-old boy should have to drag his seven-year-old sister everywhere.

  What’s really bad is having Lucy see him with Larry. She has to know how scared he is. She never says anything, but he knows she knows.

  She’s a weird kid. Always watching. Really smart, but really quiet. And she doesn’t look like she’s afraid of anything. She’s only a girl and she’s little and anybody could push her around. Except they don’t. Something about her makes people not even try.

  Charley secretly wishes he could be more like her.

  “Okay,” Larry says, “let’s get out of here. We’re gonna have a meeting and then I’m gonna say.”

  He starts over the dunes, the scraggly band following. They push down the plastic fence and run across the parking lot. Just then a passing police car slows, and the driver rolls down his window.

  “Hey, you kids. Come over here!”

  The children stop dead and look at Larry. This time he’s scared too.

  “Come here!” the cop repeats.

  They stumble over to the police car. Somehow Dennis gets stuck in front. Charley takes Lucy’s hand. Benny follows his brother and Larry manages to be last.

  “Were you kids down on the beach?” the cop asks.

  Every one of them, including Lucy, shakes their head, no. The cop knows they’re lying. He warns them that it’s dangerous with the construction, and if he finds out they were playing on the beach, he’ll arrest them for trespassing. And that means their parents will have to pay a $500 fine. He looks right at Larry.

  “I don’t think your dad’s gonna like that much, right, O’Neill?”

  Larry doesn’t answer, just nods in agreement. Any mention of his father gets his instant attention.

  “You too, Duncans, and Charley, you better watch out bringing your little sister to a dangerous place like this.”

  The cop, Danny Dasto, is in his late thirties. He went to school with Larry’s father, John O’Neill, and Charley’s father, Ned Adler. Even if he hadn’t, Shorelane is so small that everyone knows everyone else. A new cop would learn the kids’ names in a week.

  “Okay, now beat it, all of you. Why don’t you go over to the playground on Cedar?”

  Dismissed, they take off at top speed down the street. As soon as the cop car is out of sight, Larry stops.

  “He’s such an asshole. My dad hated him in school.”

  Charley doesn’t say that Danny is a good friend of his father’s. But Lucy does.

  “Yeah, well, he’s still an asshole. C’mon,” Larry says, “let’s go back to your house, Charley. I need some stuff.”

  Charley isn’t supposed to bring friends to his house when his parents aren’t home, but he can’t say no to Larry.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Luke watches the portion of the sky he can see begin to change. The pale sunlight fades, and though he can only see a thin strip of the water, he is aware that the color has turned from rich blue to steel gray. He can smell the threat of rain in the air, and the pain in his trapped arm is throbbing, and the cuts from that goddamn kid sting.

  Every few minutes he shouts for help. He never gets an answer. The children have to come back. Or maybe they’ll send someone else. Daisy said she knew them; maybe they’ll find her. Larry would have a good time embarrassing her. That’s a painful thought. Luke would like to kill the little bastard.

  But whatever they decide, they won’t just walk away and leave him. That would be unnatural. Luke understands they don’t fully appreciate the urgency of his situation, but kids just don’t do monstrous things like that, do they? Even a kid like Larry. Yeah, he’s got a bad temper, but the others will stop him when he gets too crazy. Like that little girl did.

  No, they’ll definitely come back.

  The day has turned decidedly gray now. Luke mustn’t let himself panic.

  He forces his mind to a safe place. What if he had never left Australia? Probably he would have ended up in the equivalent of a rain sewer, trapped under a wife, kids, and a no-place job. Dumb high school kid that he was, he knew not to take that chance; he knew there had to be more. What he didn’t know was that you had to work for it.

  He’d told people he was going to the States, that he’d been accepted at Yale. It gave him an excuse for the right kind of leaving, and everyone was happy for him. Even his mother seemed pleased. Why she bought the story he never understood; she had to have known better. But maybe she was ready to step out from under responsibility she never really wanted.

  Or maybe she just wanted to get him out of her sight. Never have to look at those see-through blue eyes lined with thick lashes so dark they seemed to have nothing to do with his blond-streaked hair.

  “Watery,” she’d said about his eyes. “Like your father’s.”

  Not that there were any pictures of his father around. Luke searched endlessly over the years, looking in every corner of the house, but he never found one. And while his mother was never overtly unkind—she was too meek for that—he knew she didn’t like him.

  She didn’t like him because he was part of the man who had abandoned her.

  But only he knew that. Anyone else would think she was simply a vague sort of woman. Not particularly interested in anything. Truth be told, Luke could never find her passion. Even her anger toward his father was passive. As passive as the emptiness she felt for her son.

  Anything that Luke ever did wrong, even the most insignificant, was always compared to his father. From all the comments on their similarity, they might have been identical twins, not father and son.

  Goin’ nowhere, that’s what she always said about him. That boy’s goin’ nowhere.

  Most of the time, she only seemed vaguely aware of Luke’s existence. When she wasn’t working, she was home. She never left the house. Never took him to a movie or any place special other than necessary appointments like the dentist or doctor. No friends ever stopped in. Luke never knew his father or any family outside of her. She stopped talking to her own relatives before he was born. His memories of those years were of silence. Other than to tell Luke to make his bed or do some other chore, she never really spoke to him, and since no one came to the house, and they didn’t have conversations, they could go for hours in silence.

  One day, on his way home from school, he found an abandoned puppy. It didn’t have a collar or a name tag, so he took him home, and surprisingly, his mother didn’t object. He had Spotty, part dalmatian, and now he would have someone to talk to. And he did, and there was sound in the house, and it felt so good and normal, he thought maybe he could ask some friend from school to come over. He never had before because he thought his silent mother was too strange, and he didn’t want anyone from school to see what it was like in his house.

  But he never got the chance, because about three weeks later, he came home after school and Spotty was gone. He didn’t want to, but he had to ask her what happened.

  “He was too much trouble,” she said. Nothing more.

  He knew he hated her that day, but so what? It was too late for Spotty. And the house was silent again.

  How different his life was going to be
when he grew up and left the silent house, he used to think. Except it wasn’t. It wasn’t silent, but it was empty, and that’s like a silence.

  How different it would be if it were different. If he ever got out of here, he swore that whatever it took, he would make it different.

  The one picture of his mother in the house was strange because it wasn’t about an event, like a graduation or even wedding, it was just a headshot that sat in a silver frame on her night table. It showed a pretty, petite woman, too thin, with a prominent collarbone and flat breasts. As far back as he could remember, she’d had gray hair and pale brown eyes that stared into the middle distance. When he was a teenager, he decided she was waiting for his father to come home.

  Waiting … but not to welcome him with a kiss. Oh no. To kill him? Maybe. But if she did, it would be gentle, nothing violent. Poison. She wouldn’t care what happened to herself afterward. Or to her son, the spawn of her lamentable mistake.

  When Luke was little, he would ask about his father. She’d say simply that she didn’t know him at all, but he looked exactly like Luke. She’d married a stranger, she told him. Without softening it up for a child, she said that the marriage had lasted less than a month. Luke’s father had gone off, and she’d never heard from him again. And Luke would wonder, how do you know I do all the things like him if you only knew him for a few weeks?

  She said Tom Schnekk, the name on his parents’ marriage certificate, wasn’t even his father’s real name. Whoever he was, he probably didn’t even know about Luke. At other times, his mother just wouldn’t answer his questions at all. As he got older, he stopped asking.

  In order to get a student visa, he had to enroll at the University of Seattle. When he landed, even at the airport on that first day, he knew he was going to love the United States. Americans had good feelings about Australia; after an entire history of being looked down on by Europe, it offered another new world in which they could be equal. Everyone said Australia was like America had been in the thirties.

  His newfound determination lasted less than a term. But school wasn’t a waste. It led him to decide on his life’s work, and the only preparation required was reading, one of his favorite pastimes.

  Luke was going to be a writer. The choice didn’t come out of the blue; he’d always had a natural writing style. Teachers encouraged him, but like with so many other things, he wouldn’t put in the effort. Perhaps he worried he wouldn’t be good enough. His mother would have agreed. Joining his high school newspaper or starting a blog felt like putting too much on the line. But now he’d pursue his talent. He’d do the work.

  The memory brings him back to his present plight. You couldn’t ask for a better story—providing it has a happy ending. That’s why he needs the kids.

  Just that thought makes Luke feel hopeful, and he thinks he sees a slight change in the light. It’s gotten a tiny bit brighter.

  Yes, it’s definitely not as gray.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The children walk toward the Adler house along the same route Luke and Daisy took the night before. As they approach Main Street, Larry sends Benny ahead to look for the cop car while the rest of them wait in the alley. Benny gives the all-clear, and cautiously they start across Main Street.

  Suddenly, someone calls out Lucy’s name.

  The kids stop and turn in the direction of the voice. It’s Daisy Rumkin, standing in front of Smilers. The boys look at Larry, but Larry is watching Lucy.

  The girl hesitates then walks toward Daisy, who smiles at her. “Hi, Lucy. Can I talk to you for a minute, honey?”

  Lucy nods, but doesn’t speak or smile back. The boys are watching.

  “I really feel bad about yesterday, and I wanted to explain.”

  Lucy likes Daisy. Her silence isn’t born of hostility; she just doesn’t know what Daisy is going to say, and she’s afraid the grown-up will ask about Luke.

  “Sweetie, it wasn’t nice what Larry and the other boys did. That Larry’s an awful little boy; you really shouldn’t hang around with him. He’s a bully.”

  Lucy nods.

  Daisy goes on, “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I’m real sorry what you had to see. I mean, with Luke and me. I guess it was dumb of me to do something like that in the open. I apologize, but the beach was supposed to be closed and we thought … Well, he’s an old friend …”

  Lucy’s big brown eyes go wide.

  Daisy wanted the conversation, had made up her mind to find Lucy, but now she doesn’t know what to say. She certainly isn’t going to tell Lucy that she just met Luke that afternoon. That was not the message you wanted to send a seven-year-old. So she stumbles around, searching for an explanation.

  “I mean, once we were in love.”

  It’s getting worse. The child still says nothing.

  “Actually, we used to live together.” There, that sounds better. Like marriage, but not.

  “Here?” Lucy asks.

  “No. Not exactly, well, not anymore. Actually, he never really lived here.” Daisy is choking on her own lies. “But he’s staying for a couple of days now.”

  “Here?” Lucy repeats, almost alarmed.

  Larry and the other boys have crossed the street and are standing about twenty feet away. Watching Lucy’s face, Larry’s eyes narrow; he grabs Charley, twisting the smaller boy’s arm.

  “Go get your sister.”

  Charley hesitates. Larry shoves him in the back. “Now!”

  Daisy wonders if she should tell Lucy about Luke being in the movies but decides that would be too confusing.

  “Yes, honey, for a couple of days.”

  Lucy looks overwhelmed. She opens her mouth, takes a breath, and starts to speak—just as her brother grabs her arm.

  “C’mon, Lucy. Mom’s waiting.”

  Lucy turns to Charley. “Mom’s not home.”

  “Yes, she is; she just got home. C’mon,” he says, pulling her away from Daisy.

  “Wait a minute, Charley,” Daisy calls, but Charley isn’t stopping for anyone. Not with Larry waiting and angry.

  Daisy watches them go. Slowly, she points to Larry and calls out, “You better watch yourself.”

  He responds by giving her the finger. Daisy grimaces. Everyone hates that kid—though from what she’s heard, nobody hates him more than his own father does.

  That conversation with Lucy leaves Daisy more disturbed than ever. The child is obviously upset about what happened, and Daisy needs more time to explain things. She isn’t going to chase after her though, not with the boys around. She’ll wait until she can catch Lucy alone.

  * * *

  As Lucy and Charley come near, Larry walks over and pushes Charley away from his sister. “C’mere,” he says, pulling the little girl into the doorway of the shoe shop. “See this?” Surreptitiously, he slips a Swiss Army knife from his pants pocket and flips open a blade. “Stick your tongue out.”

  Lucy is frozen with fear.

  “Stick your tongue out, I said.”

  There’s such menace in Larry’s voice that Lucy has no choice but to obey. With great reluctance she pushes the very tip of her tongue out so that it barely peeks between her lips, holds it for an instant, and pulls it back.

  “You say anything to her or anybody else, and I’m gonna cut your tongue out. I’ll make Benny and Dennis hold you down. Maybe I’ll make Charley hold your mouth open. You got it?”

  Lucy nods her head up and down, up and down.

  “Not to your parents, not to nobody. You don’t talk.”

  Lucy is still nodding.

  The other children watch silently. Charley knows he would jump in there, throw his whole body against Larry, if he thought Lucy was really in danger. At least, that’s what he tells himself. Besides, Larry was always doing that knife thing to scare the twins. Still, it was scary.


  “I said nobody. Now swear,” Larry says, grabbing Lucy by the bunched-up front of her T-shirt.

  This time, Lucy is silent not from choice but from terror.

  “Say it.” Larry pokes her hard in the ribs, holding up the knife in front of her eyes.

  “I swear.”

  Anyone but Lucy would be in tears. She’s certainly frightened enough, but it’s strange with Lucy; she doesn’t talk much and she doesn’t cry. Not often. When her grandmother died, she did. More than Charley. And when the girl next door accidentally slammed Lucy’s little finger in the car door, then she cried. But those were rare times. Nobody could call Lucy Adler a crybaby.

  “Let’s go,” Larry says.

  Right now, Charley is working on another worry. What if his parents are home? But maybe that would be okay. In fact, it could be good because then he could dump Lucy. But they might want to know what was happening and where they were going and everything else parents always want to know. When they weren’t home he could be doing anything, but they never ask about that. It’s weird.

  If they aren’t home now but come home when all the kids are there, they would be angry. It’s an absolute rule: no friends in the house when his parents aren’t home.

  He doesn’t know whether he wants them to be home or not. Charley is a worrier.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Charley didn’t have to worry. His parents don’t come home while they’re all inside the house. The kids eat peanut butter sandwiches and drink Cokes. And they laugh about Luke, as they listen to the million wild plans Larry has for what to do with him.

  Charley asks if maybe they should bring Luke something to eat. And that starts a whole hysterical menu thing, with Larry examining the contents of the refrigerator, pulling out one jar after another. “A pickle sandwich, a horseradish sandwich, left-over broccoli, an orange juice sandwich, an olive oil sandwich …” On and on. “A puke sandwich, a snot sandwich …” Every new suggestion is met with screams of laughter.