Эд Горман - Moonchasers and Other Stories

Cushing found the piece of chocolate cake. “Look here what I found.” He grinned. “I always heard that your mom was a real fine cook, Tom.”

“She is.”

“Why don’t I find out for myself and try this piece of cake?”

“That isn’t yours, Cushing, it’s mine.”

“That’s right, darling, it is your cake, isn’t it?” At which point he took the cake and squeezed it in his fist, squishing and scrunching till there would be no way to separate the cake from the waxed paper. Now it was just this little brown ball.

He threw the cake back into the sack and then dropped the sack at my feet. “That story of yours is bullshit,” he said.

“What story?” I said.

“About finding that money by the crick.”

“That’s where we found it,” I said.

“You know where the rest of that money is, don’t you?”

“Rest of what money?” Barney said.

“Rest of the bank robbery money, that’s what money,” Cushing said. “That’s where you little girls are going tonight, isn’t it? To get some more of that money?”

“We’re going for a hike,” Barney said.

“To Hampton Hill,” I said.

“Watch the stars,” Barney said.

“Have a little snack,” I said.

We were pissing him off and it was great. He just stood there, this bully-boy cop with his bully-boy gun and his bully-boy Hollywood shades, and he knew we were lying to him and there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it.

“You girls have yourselves a real nice time tonight,” he said.

And right away I knew something was wrong, the sly way he said it.

“I’ll see you later.”

And then he turned around and walked back to his car and got in and drove away.

I watched his tail lights flare as he turned the corner, then go out of sight behind the Solar Oil Company depot.

Gone. Cushing was gone. And he shouldn’t have been. Not that fast anyway. Not without ragging us a lot more than he did.

“Pretty cool the way you stood up to him,” Barney said. “Maybe he’ll leave us alone now.”

“Barney, he’s up to something.”

“Up to what?”

“I don’t know and that’s what scares me.”

“Maybe he’ll go talk to Clarence.”

“Nah. He wouldn’t do that. He’s up to something else.”

We walked and night lifted us up gently in the palm of its dark hand. The tracks thrummed again with the energy of distant trains and the jays and wrens and ravens sang their birdy asses off. It was cooler now, and so the night smelled not just of heat but of flowers and mown grass and fast chill creek water.

We crossed the tracks and jumped over the water and went up the slope to the warehouse that sat silent all in deep shadow and moonlight.

I felt nervous about everything but I couldn’t exactly say why so I just kept walking to the warehouse, gripping the sack tighter.

We went in through the front window the way we had last night and then walked the length of the floor to the closet.

Roy wasn’t there. I shined my Boy Scout flashlight all over the inside. There was no sign of him. Everything was gone except for two stubbed-out cigarette butts and dried red spots on the dirty, tiled floor. No doubt what the red spots were. Everything else he’d taken with him. Leaving no traces made sense, I thought. That way the cops would never know he’d even been here.

But it all bothered me. Roy hadn’t looked too good last night, certainly not good enough to travel. Not very far anyway.

And then Barney said, “Listen.”

I didn’t hear it at first, not with all the electricity humming in the power lines above us and the frogs by the creek and an airplane somewhere up by the round golden moon.

But then I heard it.

Some faint noise at the front of the building.

Barney wasn’t quite inside the closet. Now he peeked his head out the door.

“See anything?” I whispered.

He shook his head.

We were getting spooked was all, I thought. Came in here and found Roy gone. No wonder we were getting spooked.

And then I heard it again. Some faint scuffing sound somewhere at the front of the building.

“In here,” I whispered, pulling him into the closet.

We waited in the darkness. Our breaths came in huge ragged gasps. We smelled of night and heat and sweat. Faintly, I could smell the food we’d brought Roy last night.

The scuffing sound came closer.

By now I knew what it was. Somebody walking across the floor, trying to be quiet.

Then somebody said, voice echoing in the darkness of the empty warehouse, “You girls having fun in there?”

“Shit,” I said to myself.

Cushing had followed us.

We didn’t make a big deal of it. I mean we didn’t put our hands up or anything. We just walked out and stood in this little patch of moonlight with all the rat droppings crunching beneath our feet and then Cushing just came out of the shadows and said, “You girls are pretty easy to track. All I had to do was park my car on the other side of the oil depot and give you a few minutes and then start following you.”

He pointed to the left cuff of his buff blue summer suit. The cuff was all muddy. “Except I took a wrong step when I got to the crick.” He smiled. “I should send you little ladies the cleaning bill.”

“How come you followed us?” Barney said.

“No more of your bullshit, OK?” Cushing said. “I’m sick and fucking tired of your bullshit. When I ask you a question this time, I want a straight fucking answer or there’ll be hell to pay. You two little girls understand me?”

He’d just exploded like that, no warning at all. He was a scary guy, no doubt about it.

“Now,” he said, “where’s Roy Danton?”

“Who’s Roy Danton?” I said.

He took one step forward and slapped me so hard I couldn’t see for maybe a minute.

The whole side of my face felt hot and numb and I couldn’t get rid of the stars flashing in my eyes.

“Where is Roy Danton?”

I wasn’t sure I could do it but I wanted to try. I opened my mouth, eager to see what I’d say next. “I don’t know any Roy Danton.”

Before he could slap me again, Barney jumped in between us. “Leave him alone!”

This time he grabbed Barney and shoved him all the way back into the closet where he bounced off the back wall and dropped to the floor. Then he grabbed me and started slapping again. Two, three times, hard vicious slaps. I saw more stars. I tried hitting back and kicking back but he was too big and too skilled, like some mutant older brother.

“That’s what this bag was for, wasn’t it?” he said. “You were bringing Danton some food.”

He’d let me go now and I started backing up to the closet.

Cushing took a flashlight from his jacket, a small silver one like Doc Anderson uses when he wants you to say Ahhh and look at your tonsils, and then he pushed past me and went into the closet.

All I kept thinking of were the dried drops of blood on the floor.

Cushing looked up and down, his flashlight like a giant firefly in the darkness, and Barney just sat on the floor and watched him and rubbed the back of his head where it had collided with the wall.

I stood inside the door, to the right of Cushing, and that was how I saw the water drop from the ceiling to the top of Barney’s head. Barney reached up and patted his head and then brought his finger away. There was a dark smear on the back of his fingers.

I looked up. It wasn’t water dripping from the ceiling. It was blood. And I had a pretty good idea whose blood it was, too.

A few seconds later, Cushing found the blood from yesterday. He kept his light pointed down to the floor, right on it.

He got down on his haunches for a closer look.