By the time the police arrived, half the neighborhood had heard the screaming and came over to investigate. The police went into her yard and came out with a head, just like Mrs. Greenblatt said. She claimed to be having several more heart attacks, until she found out the head wasn’t human. It was the head of Manny Bullpucky—slightly dented and singed from our attempt to blow him up, but otherwise completely intact.
My brother Frankie got it back for us, and that evening I snapped it onto Manny’s body, then called Ira and Howie to let them know. We began to plan his death one more time.
“Can I come to one of your demolition sessions?” Lexie asked when I told her about it. “It sounds like fun.”
“Sure,” I told her, although I was doubtful about how much she would get out of merely hearing Manny’s destruction. I figured it would be good to have her there, because things were strained between Howie, Ira, and me. Killing Manny was the only thing we had in common anymore.
We met at about four o’clock on Saturday. Our crime scene was the elevated subway station in Brighton Beach, which was pretty deserted on weekends this time of year.
“I don’t like this place,” Howie says as we climbed the steps. “I mean, is it elevated? Or is it a subway? It can’t be both. It gives me the creeps.”
We figured we could get away with making Manny a subway victim here, because Brighton Beach is mostly Russian these days, therefore normal laws, rules, and space-time physics don’t always apply. Besides, the police are more worried about the Russian Mafia than about a bunch of kids. You don’t want to mess with the Russian Mafia. They make Mob guys like John Gotti look like Mr. Rogers. In Brighton Beach it’s always a beautiful day in the neighborhood, and if you don’t agree, you may end up sleeping with the beluga.
So anyways, Ira’s got his camera filming Manny, who’s slouching on a bench, looking like a postapocalyptic crash-test dummy. “With what this guy’s been through, he could be a superhero.”
“We shoulda done this on a weekday, during rush hour,” Howie says. “The more people on the train, the higher gross tonnage. Maximum breakage potential.”
“Yeah, but we could derail it,” I said, for like the fourteen thousandth time. “Better an empty train than a crowded one.”
That’s when Lexie comes up the stairs with Moxie, and someone else. It takes me a moment to realize it’s the Schwa.
I hadn’t invited him. Not intentionally, of course—he just slipped my mind like always. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he would come with Lexie. That’s how far out of my mind he had slipped. It spooked me out, the way it spooks you out when you can’t remember something simple, like your phone number, or how to spell your middle name. I heard someone say that when that happens, it means the brain cells that held the information just died, and your brain’s gotta find the information in some backup file. This was not a good thing, because if the Schwa Effect was actually killing all the brain cells that remembered him, I could end up as brain-dead as a Tiggorhoid.
“Hi, Antsy,” said the Schwa.
“Hi, Anthony,” said Lexie.
The Schwa introduced Lexie, and everyone was polite enough, although Ira and Howie made secret cracks about how they look together—then snickered like a couple of fifth graders. I couldn’t get past how awkward this all felt. But the Schwa didn’t seem to feel awkward at all. He stood there grinning like an idiot, and clutching Lexie’s arm like he was escorting her to the Academy Awards.
“Who’s gonna do the honors?” Ira asked.
Usually Howie volunteered to throw Manny to his death, but right now he was too busy staring at Lexie, waving his hand in front of her face. “So you don’t see anything at all?” he says. “Not even shadows?”
“Nope.”
“When you’re blind, you’re blind,” I said.
“Not always,” Howie says. “There are blind people who can read large-print books.”
“That’s ‛legally blind,’” Lexie explained. “I’m not legally blind.”
“Yeah,” I said, “she’s illegally blind. Now can we get on with this?”
“Lexie,” said the Schwa, still holding her by the elbow, “would you like me to guide you to a bench?”
“That’s all right, Calvin, I’d rather stand.”
Ira and Howie shared a look that could have meant any one of a dozen nasty things, then Howie turned to the Schwa. “So, Schwa, done any good vanishing tricks lately?”
While Howie taunted the Schwa, Lexie whispered my name to Moxie, and he led her over to me. “It doesn’t sound like you’re having fun,” she said.
“How do you know? I’ve barely said a thing.”
“That’s what I mean.”
“Well, I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
A train crashed past on the far track, and Lexie reached up to touch my face.
“Don’t,” I told her. “Not in front of the Schwa.” But she couldn’t hear me over the roar of the train. As soon as the train had passed, she leaned in close and whispered, “I really had fun the other night. Let’s go to the movies again.” Then she kissed me.
When I looked up, the Schwa was standing right behind her.
I had no idea how long he had been there, or what he had seen. All I know is that the sky up above was a clear ice blue, and so were his eyes. Piercing ice blue.
Usually Lexie knows exactly where everyone’s standing, but not all the time. I could tell she had no idea that the Schwa was right there. “Moxie, bench.” Moxie led her over to a bench, and she sat down.
The Schwa waited until she was gone, just staring at me with those icy eyes. He seemed calm, but there was this vein pulsing in the translucent skin of his forehead. “Why did she kiss you?”
I shrugged. “Don’t read too much into it. That’s just the way she is.”
“No,” he said. “She doesn’t kiss me like that. I mean, sometimes she kisses me on the forehead like ...”
He looked over to see Lexie stroking Moxie. He licked her face, and she gave him a kiss. On the head.
“Like that...” the Schwa said. Until that moment I suppose he had been legally blind to the situation, but now it was spread out for him in large print. I knew it would have to happen eventually, but I was hoping I’d get lucky, and the world would get struck by a comet or something first.
“I’m sorry, Schwa, okay? I’m really sorry.”
He responded with icy eyes, and a pulsing vein.
Far off a horn blew, and I could see the headlights of a train coming around the bend.
“It’s an express!” yells Howie, all excited. “It’s not gonna stop here—it won’t even slow down! Maximum breakage potential!”
I didn’t need a second invitation. Anything to look away from the Schwa’s eyes. I grabbed Manny by the scruff of his neck, dragged him to the caution line, and hurled him into the path of the approaching train. I caught a quick glimpse of the conductor’s surprised face before Manny disappeared beneath the wheels. Car after car raced past, and in a few moments the train was gone.
“Did it work?” Lexie asked. “What happened?”
Long story short, Manny Bullpucky was not stronger than a locomotive. Manny didn’t just break, he shattered. He was hit so hard, pieces of him flew out of the station, to the street below. There were body parts around Brighton Beach for weeks, which was nothing new, only these parts were plastic. The Q express train had sent Manny to the great recycling bin in the sky.