Susan Pfeffer - The Dead And The Gone

"Kevin," the man said. "What you got today?"

"Goodies," Kevin replied. "Serious goodies. This is my friend Alex. You be nice to him, Harvey. He may be coming in here on his own, and I don't want to hear you've been cheating him."

"Any friend of yours is a friend of mine," Harvey said. "Show me what you got."

Alex and Kevin pulled everything except the gun from their bags.

"Nice," Harvey said, fingering the coat. "Very nice. Separate checks?"

Kevin nodded.

"Two bottles of vodka for your stuff," Harvey said. "Deal?"

"Three'd be better," Kevin said.

"Sunshine and good times would be better still," Harvey said. "Give me a day of sunshine and you'll get the extra bottle."

"Okay, two," Kevin said. "Now see what you can do for Alex."

"Can you use the glasses?" Alex asked.

"I don't know," Harvey said. "There hasn't been a market for them yet. But I can see how they might come in handy someday. The wallet's usable."

"And a Rolex," Alex said.

Harvey shrugged. "A watch is a watch," he said. "Now that nobody's clocks are running too well." He scratched his chin. "Tell you what," he said. "Seeing as you're new to the game, and a friend of Kevin, I'll give you a half dozen cans of mixed vegetables, plus two cans of tuna and a six-pack of water."

Alex saw Kevin give his head a quick shake.

"Look," Alex said. "I may be new at this, but I'm not stupid. For all I know that water is straight out of the Hudson."

"Like I'd do that to a friend of my buddy Kevin," Harvey protested. "It's imported all the way from Altoona."

"Even if I believe you, and I'm not saying I do, I still want more," Alex said. "I'll take all that for the wallet. Now what are you going to give me for these shoes and watches?"

"I've been saving this for a special occasion," Harvey said, pulling a box of Wheaties out of a carton. "You can tell yourself it's potato chips, only nutritious. Sprinkle it on the tuna and it's dinner fit for a king."

"The king wants more," Alex said.

"Now look," Harvey said. "This ain't the A &P. I gotta stay in business, too, you know."

"Fine," Alex said, pulling the wallet back. "I'll just take all my stuff to an honest businessman."

"What's your hurry?" Harvey said. "Where were we?"

"One useless six-pack of water," Alex said, "a half dozen cans of mixed vegetables, two cans of tuna, and a box of Wheaties. What else do you have in real food?"

"Okay, I'll throw in a couple of cans of salmon," Harvey said. "And this time and this time only, a can of chicken noodle soup."

Kevin gave Alex an almost imperceptible nod.

"Deal," Alex said. He pushed the wallet back and filled his garbage bag with the groceries.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you," Harvey-said. "Kevin, next time could you bring me a sucker; I gotta live, too, you know."

"Oh, admit it, you like the fight," Kevin said. "See you around, Harvey."

"You too, kid," Harvey said.

Kevin and Alex left the shop. "Walk fast but not too fast," Kevin instructed Alex. "People get killed for two bottles of vodka."

"You have a gun," Alex pointed out.

"Hey, yeah," Kevin said. "I wonder if it's loaded."

"How come you didn't trade for food?" Alex asked.

"Dad brings home the bacon," Kevin replied. "Metaphorically speaking, of course. He owns a trucking business. Daley Trucks. 'Rent Weekly. Rent Daley.' That's why we're still here. There's lots of stuff that needs to get moved out of New York these days. We're well taken care of."

"Who's the vodka for?" Alex asked.

Kevin scowled. "My mother," he said. "She prefers it to chicken soup these days. Dad hasn't figured that out yet, so I'm the supplier."

Alex and Kevin walked back to West End, then down the few blocks in silence, lost in thoughts about their families and their needs.

"Well, this is it," Kevin said as they reached Eighty-eighth Street. "Ready to go again tomorrow:"

"Do you think there'll be more bodies?" Alex asked.

Kevin laughed. "We could walk back to Riverside right now and find a couple of new ones," he said. "They're dropping like flies."

Alex thought about how he and Julie wouldn't go to bed hungry. "Same time?" he asked.

"Same time," Kevin replied. "Don't want to be late for theology class."

"Seven o'clock, then," Alex said. "Thank you." "No problem," Kevin said. "I liked the company. Have a nice supper, Morales."

"We will," Alex said, and for the first time since speaking to Bri, he felt something that approximated happiness.

Monday, August 29

"Oh Alex!" Julie cried, flinging herself into her brother's arms and weeping.

Alex looked down at his little sister. In the three months since everything had happened, he had yet to see, or even hear, his little sister cry. Whine, complain, sulk, scream, and carry on, but never cry. Not when it became obvious neither Mami nor Papi was likely to return. Not when Bri left. Not when she learned Uncle Jimmy had left. Not when she was hungry or lonely or scared. And here she was sobbing for no apparent reason.

"What happened?" he asked as he gently led her away from Holy Angels. "Did someone die?"

Julie shook her head, but she continued to cry, and her tears cut into Alex, more even than Bri's ever had.

"It's the garden," she finally choked out. "We lost everything over the weekend. It's all gone, all the vegetables. All our vegetables. My string beans. I wanted you to eat my string beans, and now they're dead."

Alex pictured row after row of dead string beans lined up in Yankee Stadium. "You're crying over string beans?" he asked. "We got a can of string beans last Friday."

"I hate you!" Julie cried. "You don't understand anything."

"I understand plenty," Alex said. "I understand that you're upset, and I don't blame you. You worked hard all summer in that garden." He stopped for a moment, until the rustle of rats got him moving again. "They'll still feed you lunch, won't they?" he asked. "It's not your fault you can't work." He tried to control his panic as he worked through the options if Julie no longer got lunch.

"I don't know," Julie sniffed. "I don't care. I wish I was dead."

"No you don't," Alex said. "Don't ever say that. Don't even think it."

"You can't tell me what to think," Julie said, but at least she'd stopped crying. "I loved the garden. And it died because it's so cold. It's August, and I'm wearing my winter coat and gloves and my garden froze to death. And I hate corpses! I hate them!"

Alex didn't blame her. They had just passed one that had been decomposing in front of a pizza place for a week now, its flesh eaten away by rats. At first when the bodies started appearing, they got picked up within a day. But now there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to when the sanitation crews removed bodies. With more people dying and fewer trips to the crematorium, the corpses were becoming part of the city landscape. Good for body shopping but nothing else.

"If it's cold like this in August, what's it going to be like in December?" Julie asked.

Alex shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "But maybe by then they'll have figured out a way of clearing the ash from the sky. The scientists must be working on that."

"I thought they were working on getting the moon back in place," Julie said.

"First things first," Alex said.

"I hate the scientists," Julie said. "I hate the cold and the volcanoes and the moon. I hate everything."

Alex didn't bother to correct her because at that moment, he hated everything, too.

Tuesday, August 30

Alex walked Julie to Holy Angels that morning, but instead of dropping her off and checking on the five remaining people on his list, he searched out Sister Rita.