The guy had probably heard that line too many times before. “I got a loose bumper on the car,” he said. “Let’s you get your welder thing and do it.”
“Please,” Annie said to the guy because she caught Sugar Bear’s tone of voice, “go away quick. This is serious.”
The guy looked at Annie, rubbed thumb and forefinger together. “…while I take care of the shop…” and those were the guy’s last words. Sugar Bear let drive and put a ballpeen hammer deep into the guy’s skull. The guy’s eyes didn’t even have time to flicker. He didn’t even know he was dead before he was dead. The body fell just inside the doorway and Chantrell screamed. The body twitched a little, lay silent. The head had a hole that sort of oozed, but nothing spectacular.
In Chantrell’s vision a cartoon hammer started tap, tap, tapping around the room. The hammer did a song and dance, humming to itself, then began squashing spiders. Spiders appeared from everywhere, and little splashes of spider goo sizzled on the woodstove. Sugar Bear dashed madly about the room attempting to capture the hammer, but the hammer jumped through an open window and escaped into the world.
“It’ll rust out there,” Chantrell moaned. “You just know it’s gonna rust.” He fell silent, his head down and eyes closed. He turned and leaned against the wall.
Jubal Jim strolled over, sniffed the body, and sat on his haunches as much as if to say “What the hell?” Sugar Bear stood above the body. His shoulders tensed, his hands trembled, and tears spread down his cheeks. He brushed tears, got under control. “You okay?” he asked Annie.
“Of course not,” she said. “I’m scared. I don’t know what’s going on. Are you okay?”
“I’ll get past it. Can you take care of the mushroom kid? I’ll be back in a minute and explain.” Sugar Bear picked the body up by its belt, like he carried a suitcase. “I’ll stick him in the trunk of his car. Think of what to do next…”
That night Sugar Bear drove car and corpse to the Canal. The only way anyone ever knows the Canal has taken a car is through skid marks on the road, or broken shrubbery along the roadside. Sugar Bear picked a place where the grade is steep and with few plants. He set it in gear and let it cruise into the dark waters. Bubbles rose as the car sank, and as Sugar Bear bowed his head and said a few words. Then Sugar Bear walked away, down the dark road beside the dark water. He did not see the Canal start humping, the swell moving just beneath the surface, moving toward the burial site and then quickly away; spreading like the burp from a giant carp.
Easy Summer Girl Talk
Sugar Bear’s iniquity became a sea story long before even a thoughtful fisherman could predict. Rumor extended south to Lee’s China Bay Taverna where the bartender, in spite of being wise, could not keep word from spreading. Original rumor said some guy with hot pants hassled Bertha then disappeared. In that form it didn’t amount to much.
There are some awful sinners down at China Bay. By the time the story got elaborated, told and retold for a couple weeks, it bloomed like a lawn full of dandelions. By the time the story faded it included conspiracies and agents from the FBI, plus unofficial execution(s) by noose. The body/bodies (depending on the stage of the story) was/were hanging from its/their neck(s) back in the mountains where ravens pecked out eyes.
Hardly any guy who attends Saturday evening services at Beer and Bait did not get credited for the execution. Suspicion largely ignored Sugar Bear who has the reputation for being a sweetie. The suspect who received the most attention was Chantrell George because he is weird. That caused Chantrell to feel both guilty and glad, which was a bad thing for a story to do. When that version drifted north from China Bay, every other man at Beer and Bait felt indignant and rejected.
Then people further north got into it. At Rough and Randy the story claimed all credit for some unknown warrior up in that direction. Rough and Randy tried to steal the Beer and Bait story. For a few days nobody laughed.
All of this happened in early summer. Through the summer, other stuff happened, some normal, some not. Anyone who is thoughtful would just naturally make a list:
a. Dead guy gets dumped and cars start drowning in the Canal.
b. A lot of fishermen went north to Alaska, or stayed offshore hassling Canadian boats while the Canadians hassled them.
c. Tourists puttered ahead of logging trucks and logging drivers cussed like blue flame. Those Kenworths cost over a hundred thousand, and owners get paid by the trip. Every rpm they drop makes it that much harder to meet the truck payment.
d. The main thing that happened was that Petey went to Seattle looking sort of dreamlike, but not so dreamy he couldn’t make a stake. He won a big tournament, did a bit of hustling, and dealt with other little odds and ends that came to hand. In mystical terms you could say he followed The Way of the Hustler.
e. Bertha stayed behind and took care of Jubal Jim. Since business was good Bertha continued to carry warmth in her heart and a glad look in her eyes. No one had ever known Bertha to act so kindly for such a long stretch, and everyone felt concerned.
f. Chantrell grew more ethereal. He knew himself well enough to question if he had really killed anyone, but the story said otherwise. It was only after some weeks of meditation that he grew reconciled. Pictures of a flying hammer remained with him, and the thunk of a hammer hitting bone sounded in his dreams. Chantrell fought for control. This was his first fatal vision. Always before, even rowdy visions ended with no one dead. This vision marked a fearsome new departure. Chantrell had probably never heard of the crossing of the Rubicon, and would not give a sniff if told of it (for it was a very small river), but the fact remains that the flavors of life were Changing.
Chantrell rolled his bike along the road in an increasingly timid manner. He did not exactly lose touch with reality, although reality had never been a big priority. He retreated into innocence, becoming more childlike.
Men are not supposed to cry, and, of course, Sugar Bear did not after that first early shock. He grew more quiet. He sang softly and sad when at the forge, whereas before the murder his voice rang lusty and flat and joyous and obnoxious. Nighttime often found him wandering near the Canal where the dead guy doubtless still curled in the trunk of his drowned car. Sugar Bear spent late afternoons or early evenings at Beer and Bait. He brooded, became depressed and considered religion. He confided to Bertha that he thought of joining the Baptists, because the Baptist version of hell seemed more friendly than anything the Adventists had to offer.
And Annie spent more and more time in the woods. In her less-than-twenty-three years Annie had seen a lot of natural violence; spiders trapping bugs, owls catching mice, and a couple of bar fights that went nowhere. A flying hammer changed her worldview. She spent even more time thinking about Sugar Bear, worrying about him. For a time she could not decide if she wanted to run away from him because of fear, or run to him and try to help. Annie, had she been told of the Rubicon, would have made a mental note.
Although Navy ships, submarines, yachts, and sailboats dotted the Canal, no one reported movement beneath the water. It seemed like the creature, or spirit, or whatever it was that moved out there reserved itself for local residents. In other words, things went on as usual until Annie made a decision. Sugar Bear was kind, and nice, and gentle when it came to everything except perverts and boilerplate.
Annie experienced a problem peculiar to her sex. She needed another woman to talk to, someone who knew the score. A man would not do. Annie thought Bertha the smartest person around. On more than one occasion Annie had watched with interest as Bertha escorted a logger to the doorway, usually by firmly grasping his ear. If Bertha could bounce a logger there seemed no limit to her knowledge. Annie felt that, to Bertha, men were simple creatures easily tamed. Annie headed for Beer and Bait.