Doug Allyn - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 125, No. 6. Whole No. 766, June 2005

Like that stupid AM-PM cashier. She was this old lady with rotten teeth and frizzy bleached-out hair and a loser job. She watched Bobby the whole time he was in the store like he was going to stuff his Slurpee in his shirt instead of pay for it, or maybe she thought he’d pull a gun on her and rob her. Just because of how he looks, like he can help it. So I smiled my sweet, innocent smile and paid for my Mountain Dew, and when she went back to watching Bobby’s every move, I grabbed the lighter off the display next to the counter. Serves her right. I hope they make her pay for it.

Bobby didn’t want to do the fire at first. He’s always so scared of getting caught.

“Roberto, man, c’mon, we gotta do this,” I said, and because I know he hates his real name, I said it again, drew it out singsong. “Ro-berrrrr-to.”

He took a swing at me, but I’m faster than him and I ducked out of the way without spilling any of my drink. I could have hit him back, but he’s my friend so I didn’t.

“Don’t call me that,” Bobby said. He looked like he wanted to try to hit me again. “You know I ain’t that freaking name.”

Yeah, I know, but saying it makes Bobby mad enough to do what I want him to. I know it, and he knows I know it, but that doesn’t change things. Bobby’ll do almost anything to prove he’s not Roberto, not some worthless piece of shit like his old man.

“Listen,” I said. “I been inside already. There’s all sorts of stuff in there that’ll burn.”

“Yeah? Then why don’t you go do it? You’re the one who’s got a hard-on about it.”

Hard-on. That’s funny.

Bobby sucked down some more of his drink and pretended to ignore me. But I saw the glint in his eye, and I could tell he was coming around to the idea. That’s one of the reasons he hangs with me. I come up with all the best ideas.

We stood there for a while, finishing off our drinks and watching the traffic on Garnett. Wasting time, but it was Saturday and we had no place special to be. I didn’t want to go home, not yet. There was nothing to do there anyway. There never is.

An eighteen-wheeler roared by, belching nasty-smelling diesel over its rusted trailer. Garnett has a No Trucks sign, but nobody pays any attention. There’s a park across the street from AM-PM, lots of grass, a couple of basketball courts, and a playground with swings and a slide and a little-kid merry-go-round. I guess somebody figured trucks driving by a park where a bunch of kids hang out wasn’t a good thing. Too bad nobody cares. I flipped the truck driver off even though I knew he couldn’t see me, and Bobby laughed.

“This is lame,” I said, tired of just standing around. “Let’s go.”

I tossed the rest of my drink toward the trash. It hit the rim and bounced back on the sidewalk, spilling ice on the hot concrete. Bobby picked up the cup and threw it with his into the trash can.

“What are you, the garbage man?” I asked as I headed off down Garnett. Colfax was four blocks away, the empty house three blocks up.

“Rebound Man,” Bobby said. “He shoots, he scores!”

He did an air-ball jump shot and then started walking with me, and just like that I knew he’d decided to do it.

Never a doubt. Bobby’s my friend.

Seven blocks can take forever when you’re walking someplace you don’t want to go. Your feet drag and the hot sidewalk burns through your shoes until the bottoms of your feet feel like they’re on fire. The sun zaps all your energy, and it’s all you can do to keep on walking.

The seven blocks to the empty house on Colfax wasn’t like that at all. The sun still fried my head and the sidewalk, but my feet didn’t feel the heat. A few cars drove past, but nobody else was out on the streets but me and Bobby. No kids jumping rope or throwing ball. No dads mowing half-dried-out lawns or washing cars in the driveway, no moms pulling weeds in front-yard flowerbeds. Even the dogs that normally yapped their heads off while they chased along after me inside chain-link-fenced yards only barked a couple of times and stayed in the shade.

Lazy, hot Saturday afternoon, and I was so jazzed I could hardly keep from running. I get like that when I’m playing the game.

“Burgers,” Bobby said, his nose in the air, sniffing like a dog.

I smelled barbecue, too. Somebody was in their backyard grilling lunch or maybe an early dinner. Probably sucking down a beer or two and listening to the Giants game on the radio. My stomach rumbled. Barbecue was one of the best things about summer.

“Steak,” I said. “Gotta be steak. Or maybe ribs with lots of sauce. Or chicken. Burgers don’t smell that good.”

“Burgers rule.”

Bobby was Burger Man. He’d eat burgers for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if he could get away with it. McDonald’s, Burger King, Jack in the Box, Bobby didn’t care as long as it was a burger. I always figured it was part of him wanting to be Bobby instead of Roberto. Nobody could like burgers that much.

“Burgers suck,” I said, just to piss him off. “Give you Mad Cow Disease.”

“Do not!”

He went to shove me, but I veered off the sidewalk into the street. I mooed at him and he laughed at me.

“Mad Cow,” I said, and mooed again, then we both started to laugh.

Half a block away from the empty house, Bobby started walking slow. He eyed the house like it was going to bite him. It wasn’t anything special, just like any other old house in the neighborhood except for the For Sale sign. Sure, the lawn was dried out and the yellow paint on the outside of the house was peeling, but half the houses we walked by were in worse shape.

“You sure nobody’s there?” Bobby asked, eyeing the rusty old white Toyota parked in front of the house.

“It’s Saturday. They don’t work on Saturdays. I told you, I been watching.”

Watching long enough to know that the Toyota belonged to the house next-door. That meant the neighbors were home, but I could hear the deep thump-thump-thump of a rap beat coming from their house. Whatever me and Bobby did, they’d never hear us.

“I’m hungry,” Bobby said. “We should get something to eat first.”

He was stalling. Maybe he’d decided to back out. I could start the fire myself and it would still be cool, playing the game was always cool, but it wouldn’t be as much fun without Bobby. Friends did shit together, that’s what being friends was all about.

“You backing out on me?” I asked. I stepped up close to him, getting in his face. “Huh? Roberto?”

Bobby backed away from me.

“No,” he said, defiant-like, but he wouldn’t look me in the eye. “I don’t think this is such a good idea. I mean, this is somebody’s house.”

“No, it’s not.” I pointed at that puke-ugly sign. “Nobody lives here, nobody’s gonna care. They’ll just fix it up again.”

“Yeah?”

I smiled my sweet, innocent smile. “Yeah. It’ll make them happy, give them more work to do. They’ll get more money. Everybody’s happy when they have more money.”

“What if we get caught?”

“We’re not gonna get caught.”

I slugged him in the arm, not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to let him know I was getting tired of his shit.

“Don’t be stupid,” I said.

I walked to the backyard gate and pretty soon Bobby followed me like I knew he would. The sidewalk around the side of the house was littered with cigarette butts.

“Look at this.” I kicked at a cigarette butt with my toe. “I bet they’ll blame the whole thing on these guys, smoking on the job.”

“Smoking’ll kill you,” Bobby said.

Bobby’s old man smoked, but it hadn’t killed him yet. Drinking hadn’t done it, either. Maybe he should take up running. I heard that killed a lot of people.