“Hurry!” Mary said, taking Hank’s hand and leading him through the darkness of the living room toward her bedroom. Someone moaned.
Mary cried out. She turned on the light. Terry lay on the couch, his face bloodied, holding his stomach.
“What…” Mary rushed over to the couch and examined her son.
“I’ll call an ambulance,” she cried.
“No,” Terry muttered. “I’m okay. Just got to get cleaned up.”
“But what happened to you?”
Terry looked up at his mother sitting on the couch next to him and then up at Hank standing behind her.
“Nothing,” Terry said.
“I’ll bet the other guy looks worse than you, eh,” Hank laughed. Mary turned and gave Hank an ugly look that knocked the smile off his face.
“Couple of guys tried to mug me,” Terry said.
His mother looked at the bruises on his face. Then she touched his side. Terry winced.
“I think you might have broken a rib,” Mary said. “I really think you should see a doctor.”
“Please, Mom, I’ll be all right.”
Mary looked at her son. “We should phone the police. But first, let’s get you cleaned up. Rest easy now. I’ll get a face cloth, some cold water, and bandages.”
Mary smiled at her son then quickly left for the bathroom. When she had departed Hank moved closer.
“Mugging, eh?” he said.
Terry nodded.
“Your mother can’t hear us from the washroom. What really happened, kid?”
Terry did not respond.
“Look, kid. I like your mother. I don’t want her to be facing a lot of pain because of you. If you’re into something over your head, maybe I can figure a way out of it.”
Terry looked up at Hank. His figure, silhouetted by the room’s lights, gave him a menacing appearance.
“I can take care of myself,” Terry said, wincing as he attempted to sit up on the couch.
“That’s right.” Hank smiled. “You can really take care of yourself.
Look, kid, I’ve been in a few scrapes myself and I know a little more about the world. Don’t be a fool. Whoever did this to you, I can do a lot more to them. And their friends.”
At that moment Mary returned with a basin of water, a face cloth, and some bandages.
“Look, Hank,” she whispered, pulling him to one side, “maybe you should leave. I can take it from here. I’d feel a whole lot better talking to the police if I was alone with Terry. They might start asking you questions about us and…”
Hank nodded. He looked at Terry.
“Remember what I said, kid,” he said, then let himself out of the apartment.
Mary sat down on the couch and started to clean Terry’s wounds.
“Now that Hank has gone, would you like to tell me what really happened, dear?”
“Are you going to marry that guy?” he asked.
Mary smiled. “Why do you ask that?”
“Because,” Terry said, “that guy gives me the creeps. What do you know about him?”
Dark Alleys
Joe Mackenzie stepped behind the bank and into the shadows. Turning off his flashlight, he leaned against the wall and began to urinate.
When he was finished he turned around and almost walked into the figure standing behind him.
“Jesus!” Joe cried.
“Gave you quite a fright, eh, Mr. Mackenzie?” Wiggy said, laughing.
“It’s the Indian blood in me. I can sneak up on just about anyone.”
“You know what happened to the Indians,” Joe responded, as he turned his flashlight on and checked the alley to make sure there weren’t any other surprises.
Wiggy thought about Joe’s remark for a minute then laughed.
“Oh ya,” he cried. “Good one, Mr. Mackenzie. Just relieving the old bladder, eh? I won’t turn you in.”
Joe Mackenzie ignored Wiggy’s remark and walked down the alley behind the plaza. As he walked he shone his flashlight into the dark crevices and loading docks of the stores. Wiggy walked beside him.
“You ever find anyone back here?” Wiggy asked.
“Besides you?” Joe asked.
Wiggy nodded.
“No,” Joe responded. “But they pay me to check out the back of the stores here so I do it.”
“You think people are going to break into the paint store or that new picture framing shop? What’s there to steal?” Joe ignored Wiggy’s question.
“What are you doing out at this hour?” he asked.
Wiggy shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing. Couldn’t get to sleep.
Thought I’d come and talk to you. Didn’t mean to scare you, Mr. Mackenzie. I wanted to thank you for not calling the cops the other night. I hope we didn’t wake you up. Just having a little fun with some girls back of your place. Nothing bad, Mr. Mackenzie. Just drinking a little gin and smoking a little weed. We gotta go someplace, right? I guess we were a little loud. I saw your light go on all of a sudden and we kind of panicked. I mean the girls panicked. But I told them you wouldn’t call the police.”
“I didn’t hear a thing,” Joe replied. “I didn’t turn on any light.” The two were silent for some time as Joe continued to flash his light at the back of the shops. When they reached the back of Apache Burger, which was not attached to the plaza but was situated near its southern end, Joe sat down on a tree stump. Wiggy asked if he could borrow a cigarette. Joe informed Wiggy that he didn’t smoke. Wiggy took a seat on a tree stump a few feet away.
“You like this job, Mr. Mackenzie?”
Joe shrugged and turned off his flashlight.
“I guess you get lots of time to think about things,” Wiggy suggested.
“I like to think about things. Not school stuff. Real stuff. The night makes you feel so small that you figure your questions can’t hurt anyone. Like if you think about those questions during the day, people think you’re queer or something. One night I was out on our back lawn staring up at the sky and imagining that with all those stars, there must be zillions of planets and with all those planets, there must be some guy just like me on his back staring up at the heavens looking right up at the sky at me.
It’s possible, right? There might even be more than one guy. There might two or three guys. Maybe a hundred guys. With all those stars there could be a million guys just stretched out there on their backs staring up at each other. All of them wondering if they were the only guy. And then I get this feeling, a really sick feeling in my stomach. Maybe I am the only guy.”
Joe sighed. Wiggy laughed.
“I think you need to get yourself a job,” Joe said as he rose to his feet.
Wiggy remained on his stump, looking up into the sky. When he turned his attention back to the plaza, Joe had turned the corner of the building and returned to the front of the plaza. Wiggy stood up and ran over to the dumpster behind the camera shop where Frank and Terry were waiting.
“I thought that you’d never get rid of him,” Frank said.
“Come on,” Terry said. “Give us a hand with him before he wakes up.”
“Ah, hell.” Wiggy laughed. “I’ll just knock him out again.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sam Kelly stood up and shook his visitor’s hand. He gestured to the chair opposite his desk. The stocky middle-aged man flirted with a smile. Sam took a seat. His visitor sat.
“I could have come to your home,” Sam said, sweeping some papers he’d been looking at off to one side of his desk. “Thanks for coming to see me, Mr. Gray.”
“It’s Frank. Ruth said you’d been at the house.” Frank smiled uncomfortably, looking around the detective’s office. “She was concerned that I was in some sort of trouble. I’ve never been in any trouble with the law.” 101
“Relax, Frank. This isn’t an interrogation. Just a friendly interview,” the detective said.
Frank seemed to jerk slightly as he nodded. He ran his hand through his thinning hair.
“Not like television?” the detective asked.
Frank shook his head. “Neater,” he replied, his smile flickering on his lips. “Police shows have messy offices and filthy streets. There are more filing cabinets than I expected. And I expected to see pimps, hookers, drug dealers lining the walls. You have someone come in here and clean up?”