Chris Whitaker - We Begin at the End

The guy was old, Hispanic, hairnet and apron and furrowed brow, the kind of old man that took shit from punk kids then picked up their trash like a tip. Walk checked the name tag, “Luis . ”

Luis clocked Walk, then pointed to the lot.

Walk drove over and parked, got out and sat on the hood. Ten minutes till he came, stooped walk, shuffling feet.

“I only got five minutes break,” Luis said.

“Thank you for meeting me.”

“Any friend of Cuddy.”

Luis had occupied the cell beside Vincent’s for eight years. Armed robbery, the last in a long line of crimes. Tattoos on his arm spoke of affiliation, Walk guessed he was long past all that now.

“You ask and I answer. And then I get on. The boss man, he doesn’t like cops around his joint.”

“Fair enough. Tell me about Vincent King.”

Luis lit a cigarette, kept his back to the windows and fanned the smoke as he blew it. “The only guy I ever met who didn’t say he was set up.”

Walk laughed.

“Serious. He didn’t say much of anything.”

“He didn’t have friends in there.”

“No. Not Vincent. He didn’t even take his yard time, man. And the pudding cups.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pudding. The food is dog shit, the pudding isn’t. I seen a man get stabbed for his pudding cup. Vincent gave me his every day.”

Walk wondered what to do with that one.

“You don’t get it, cop. He ate just enough. He said just enough. Shit, he breathed just enough.”

“Enough to what?”

“Stay alive. No existence beyond the fundamental. He stayed alive to serve his time. And he made fucking sure it was the worst time he could serve. No TV, radio. No nothing. Would’ve spent his time in solitary if Cuddy had let him.”

Luis held the smoke deep.

“He had trouble in there,” Walk said.

“Everyone does at some point. He had a girl, right? Outside. Others talked about her, maybe that was his weakness. Maybe thinking of her with someone else. Jealousy, I tell you, inside it’ll drive a man crazy. He dealt with it well enough, made sure others left him be after.”

“But they still came for him. I’ve seen the scars.”

“The only enemy that guy had was himself.”

“How do you mean?”

“He asked me to get him a blade. No big deal. I figured he wanted to settle up with someone.”

“He didn’t?”

“Same day I gave it to him I heard the guards hollering. Ain’t unusual, but this was Vincent’s cell so I went up to see.”

“And?”

Walk watched his color drain.

“Messy, man. Cut himself to ribbons. Deep, serious cuts. He didn’t hit the arteries. He didn’t want to die, just to suffer.”

Walk let that sit a while, found himself unable to speak, throat tight like he could barely breathe.

“We done?”

“I need a character reference for him.”

“You won’t find no one. Because no one knows Vincent.” Luis dropped his cigarette, stubbed it out then bent and picked up the butt. He winked at Walk, extended a hand and tutted when Walk went to shake it.

Finally, Walk pulled out a twenty and Luis took it.

27

DOLLY SHOWED AT THEIR DOOR, laden with a big box. She was there to collect Robin, he would spend the night at her place as Hal said he’d keep free in case Mrs. Noble couldn’t collect them after the dance. Always looking out, worrying.

She led Duchess up to the bedroom and opened the box to a startling array of makeup and perfumes.

“Don’t make me look like a whore.”

“I can’t make any promises, sweetheart.”

Duchess smiled at that.

An hour later and she walked down the stairs, her hair expertly curled and her lips shining pink. She wore a new bow and new shoes that Cally had helped pick out. She’d gained a little more weight, no longer so skeletal, her muscles tight from the work.

She saw Hal wearing something like pride on his face so she told him to shut the fuck up before he could say a word.

“Beautiful,” Robin marveled. “You look just like Mom.”

* * *

They tailed Dolly and Robin till they turned off at Avoca. Snow fell lightly but the roads were salted. Dolly’s place was big, fancy and lit with warm window light. She’d asked after Bill. Dolly said he didn’t have the good sense to give up.

They passed a sign blinking, DRIVE SLOW.

“You nervous?” Hal said.

“About getting pregnant tonight? Nah, what will be will be.”

They turned onto Carlton.

“I’m worried about Robin,” she said.

He glanced over.

“What he knows about that night. It’s … it’s not back but, I don’t know. He dreams about it. I think maybe he heard it all.”

“Then we’ll deal with it.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes. That sound alright?”

She nodded.

They made the turn onto Highwood Drive.

“Shit.”

“What?” And then he saw, and he tried not to smile but lost the battle fully.

The path to the Noble house, swept of snow but lined with rose petals.

“Fucking shoot me now.”

At the window she saw him, face pressed to the glass like Robin waiting on Christmas.

“He’s wearing a fucking bowtie. He looks like a magician.”

Hal brought the truck to a stop. The street door opened and Mrs. Noble stood there, camera in hand. Behind her was Mr. Noble, and he held a video camera, so big it mounted on his shoulder and threw out a blinding spotlight.

“Turn back. No way I’m walking into that freakshow.”

“It’s alright. Maybe do it for them, just once.”

“A selfless act.”

“I’ll be waiting up. You call me if there’s a problem.”

She took a deep breath, then reached for the mirror and fussed with her bow.

“You have a good time tonight.”

“I won’t.”

She opened the door and the cold met her. “My dress is plain. Not like the other girls.”

“Since when do you want to be like them? You’re an outlaw.”

“I’m an outlaw.” She stepped into the snow.

He fired the engine and as she moved to shut the door she called, “Hal.”

“Yes, Duchess.”

She met his eye, he looked old then, capable but she knew the toll and its cost. She thought of her mother, of Sissy.

“I’m not sorry, for everything I’ve said to you.” She swallowed. “I just …”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not. But I think one day it might be.”

“You go on now. Try and have fun. Smile for the cameras. Both of them.”

She flipped him off but added a smile to it.

The glitter ball spun and Duchess watched light shards over the crowd. The theme was Wonderland and she stared at the cotton snow and frosted flowers. Above them balloons hung in white and blue, painted stars and cardboard trees circled a dancefloor made to look like ice.

She fiddled with her corsage. “It itches. Did you find it in a Dumpster?”

“My mother picked it up.”

They hung at the back. She saw girls in fancy dresses and heels, teetering. She said a silent prayer they would fall.

Thomas Noble wore a dinner suit, a size too big so his bad hand withdrew into the cuff. Draped behind was a silk cape, so fantastically bizarre she could not tear her eyes from it.

“My father said a gentleman always sports a cape to a formal event.”

“Your father is a hundred and fifty years old.”

“He’s still got moves. I have to go in the backyard when they make love because the noise is deafening.”

She stared at him, suitably horrified.

The music started up and Duchess watched a group of girls run at the dancefloor.

Thomas Noble fetched them a juice and they found seats at a table by a heart-shaped stage and photographer.

“Thanks for coming with me.”