“The Dave you were,” Ray told him, “Was not the Dave you are now. I can tell you that much. That Dave, well, he was a piece of work. A nice little boy all right. Very quiet, very polite. You remind me of the little Davey, up until around ten or so. That’s when your mother got sick. And then your dad. You changed completely after that. By the time you were, oh, maybe fourteen, it was a different Davey Connor. Unhappy, surly, even mean sometimes. You didn’t do anything for your parents, you know. Didn’t try to help. Wouldn’t lift a finger as they got weaker, and sicker, and finally passed on. You took off on your own, ran around with your friends. Your mom and dad worried about you all the time. Asked me what to do, as if I could tell them anything. I never had a kid. Heck, I was more like you when I was that age. Left home in my teens and never looked back. I could understand that, but I couldn’t help.”
He paused to see what effect his little talk was having on his nephew, but Dave had no expression on his face. He was listening intently, but not really hearing. He couldn’t absorb this data, make it his own. It was just another human interest story. Ray continued.
“Then you got involved in some things you shouldn’t have. Got caught once or twice. Spent some time in jail. I never told anyone around here about that, not even Clayton. That was all in Wetford. I figured, if you ever needed a fresh start, I’d try and keep your name all clear around here. Then you started branching out. Started doing business over here down river as well as up there. Got in with the Kruzel gang, from what I heard. No, tell you the truth, son, you really weren’t much back then. Nothing to write home about, that’s for sure.”
“Better off dead,” Dave muttered.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Ray hurried to say. “I wouldn’t say that about anybody. As long as there’s life there’s hope. Never give up. That’s what I say. Never lose hope.”
“No, I mean it,” Dave said, standing up. “It sure sounds like I’m better off now that I was before. I have no problems. Except for him. Except for who I used to be, and who I used to know.”
He paused in front of Ray’s chair and looking down, reached out a hand to touch his uncle on the shoulder.
“Thank you,” he said, and turned away. He went out the front door and stood on the top step considering which way to turn. To the right was the waterfront and probably Cookie out there somewhere. He would like to see her again. He would like to help her. It would feel good to do that. He could stay out of the way, stay in the shadows. It could work. He hesitated for a few moments. He was not used to making choices. He would have to decidw. There was Cookie, and that chance, but then there was Princess, and Fripperone. They were out there too, and he did not want to see them again.
To the right was downtown and the human world. To the left was the winding road uphill to Fulsom Park. It was dark up there, and quiet. Peaceful. He could be alone, and maybe figure out what he should do, long term. It was time to make a decision.
He turned left.
Fourteen
Rags was not going to go up there alone. He wanted to bring Curly along, but at the same time he wanted to keep Curly out of it. This was going to be a nasty business, and his little brother didn’t need to be involved. He thought about asking Jockstrap but quickly dismissed that notion. Jockstrap was way too stupid. He couldn’t be counted on for anything, not even to tie his own shoes. That left only Fripperone. It was fitting. After all, Fripperone had started all this, in ways he could not even imagine, and he owed it to him. Besides, Fripperone was eager and willing to go. He could hardly wait for Rags to gather together his jalapenos and orange peel.
“Come on,” Rick said. “It’s getting dark already. What if we miss him? And anyway, what do you need that crazy stuff for? It’s not even edible. I’d bring pretzels if I was you.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Rags retorted, but did he? He doubted himself. He had been so sure, not so long ago, the night he had lured Dave Connor up to the park under similar pretenses. A certain person was going to be there. A deal was to be made. Easy money. Easy pickings. The look on the man’s face when the knife twisted in his guts still haunted Rags’ dreams. He could hear the sharp, rough grunt still echoing in his head on awakening in the middle of the night.
He was ready for anything, he told himself. He’d brought a flashlight, a gun, and a knife, as well as the culinary requirements, among other things. Rick kept pestering him to get with the program.
“Holy Toledo,” Rick exclaimed. “It’s getting late. Come on.”
“Let’s go,” Rags declared as he packed his final bits of business. They were going to hike up the hill. This way they could keep to the shadows, not be seen and even less, be identified by some car make or model. Rick was not thrilled with the idea. He was overweight and out of shape, and already sweating heavily by the time they reached the park entrance. There they stopped as Rags took his bearings. He pulled a compass out of his bag and gauged the direction.
“Don’t tell me we’re lost,” Rick puffed. “We’re only at the damn entrance.”
“I know where I’m going, boss,” Rags told him. He knew that just by saying ‘boss’ he could get Rick to shut up for at least a minute or two. Of course he remembered exactly where he had murdered Dave Connor. How could he ever forget? He saw that site in his mind every day whether he wanted to or not. He took his leader right there, through the woods, off the path, to the very spot and when they got there, he stopped, and gaped, not believing what he saw.
The grave he had so carefully filled in was completely re-opened. Not only that, it was twice as wide, and twice as deep.
“I don’t remember it being this big,” he whispered to Rick.
“It wasn’t,” said a voice from behind them. They turned, and in the half moon light saw the figure of a woman standing there. She was tall, quite tall, and very thin. Her thick black hair fell around her face and partially covered the eye patch over her right eye. She was wearing a denim miniskirt, black stiletto boots, and a white dress shirt. She carried something long attached to her belt on one side, and what looked like a rope coiled around her waist.
“Holy mother!,” Rick nearly shouted. “Damn! Don’t you look good?,” he exclaimed. The woman flipped her hair and smiled, fully revealing the patch and a thick red scar slashed into her forehead above it.
“You like what you see?,” she said coyly, and took a step closer. Rags took a step back. Her whole face was streaked with dirt and maybe more. He was getting a bad feeling all over, but Rick took a step toward her, raising his arms with his palms up in some sort of gesture meant to be welcoming and reassuring.
“What’s your name?” he asked in his best flirtatious voice.
“Call me Racine,” she replied.
“Nice name,” Rick said. She came closer and he drifted in her direction too. To his amazement, Racine began unbuttoning her blouse. One button, two buttons. Rick was practically drooling already. His hands were itching; he wanted to rip that shirt right off her. Racine rapidly unbuttoned the rest of the shirt and pulled it off to reveal her naked chest, which would have been lovely were it not for the gaping wound oozing blood from the left breast.
That was enough for Rags. He screamed and ran off as fast as he could through the woods. Rick was stuck in his tracks and could only stare as she uncoiled a whip and lashed out with it. It grabbed him around his legs and toppled him like a dead tree stump and he fell, straight into the wide open grave. He could do nothing but look up, petrified and trembling, as she leaned over the side and smiled at him.