Halfway House (37 page)

Was it destiny, just like in his comics?

He watched Lucy eat and pondered this. Something he’d done his whole life was compare real people to comic book characters. He couldn’t help it. It came automatically. He’d never tell anyone because they wouldn’t understand. They’d think it was a childish thing, not realizing the maturity of the characters in comics and how they reflected modern society. He’d tried to keep from doing that while in San Pedro, but his traitorous mind worked at it anyway.

While Kanga reminded Bobby of the Silver Surfer, the gangbanger reminded Bobby of Namor. Not in appearance, because the immense, overweight size of Lucy was far removed from the svelte, underwater muscle builder of Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, and especially Sal LaRocca. No, it definitely wasn’t the look. What solidified the comparison for Bobby was the stoicism and the responsibility Lucy carried with him, as if those values were the rock of Sisyphus that could never be put away, that the gang leader was cursed to push up an endless hill. Like Namor, Lucy had to look out for people, and the task weighed heavily on him. Namor was a tragic character, much like Ben Grimm. But Namor was lonelier. He had no one to talk to. No one to whom he could relate his feelings.

Was that who Bobby was? Someone for Lucy to talk to outside of his crew? Of course. Bobby had become so enamored that he’d forgotten that Lucy thought of Bobby as an equal. They had a friendship different than anyone else. After all, they were about to save the world.

As they finished in silence, Bobby remembered when Namor had battled the Fantastic Four and won. He’d withstood the full firepower of Johnny Storm, went
mano-a-mano
with The Thing, shattered the Invisible Woman’s force fields and turned Reed Richards into the world’s largest rubber band. People might never have heard of the Prince of the Sea, but that didn’t make him any less powerful.

Three in the afternoon saw them all in one-armed Polo’s van. It wasn’t a comfortable ride, but they were trying to keep a low profile. Inside were Lucy, Trujillo, Manolo, Blockbuster, Bobby, two Angels Bobby didn’t know, and one-armed Polo. Polo had just come from the halfway house where he said his wife had finally stopped talking. Bobby and Lucy had exchanged knowing looks.

The day had turned gray. An offshore storm huddled just past the breakers. Catalina Island was hidden. Whitecaps tipped the waves. Wind blew hard enough to toss the fronds of the palms like a cheerleader’s pom-poms.

When they pulled to the curb near Jap’s Cove, Vincent was waiting for them, dressed in a dark running suit. Bobby had called him earlier, then told Lucy. At first the gang leader had been pissed, but after Bobby explained the complex relationship between Kanga and Marley, he’d acquiesced and allowed the man’s participation.

 Still, it didn’t mean that Lucy had to like it. When he’d seen the teardrops beneath the eye, he’d made sure to have a private word with Trujillo. Bobby couldn’t hear their conversation, but he was sure it had to do with watching Vincent closely and making sure he didn’t do anything funny.

They all got out of the van except Polo, who was still disconsolate from the death of his wife and the loss of her soul. Lucy gave him a cell phone and ordered him to stay behind the wheel and be lookout.
“If anyone as much as farts in our direction, press this button and let us know.
”

Then Bobby introduced Vincent. After a few tight greetings, everyone agreed to get this over with while there was still light. Trujillo sent one of the nameless Angels down the path to discourage anyone from using it until their task was complete.

Five minutes later, with shovels in hand, they stood over the six sets of footprints. They appeared to be made from some type of dark mineral. Bobby had once touched them and jerked his hand away when he’d felt a strange warmth. Kanga had explained it by saying the dark rock had absorbed the sun’s rays. At the time it had seemed logical. Yet the footprints had always bothered him. Not only did they have ridges as if they were the bottoms of boots, but they were cast as if six men had been walking down the trail. It would have made more sense that if these footprints had been cast and then set in the path, they would have been placed side-by-side. That the ridges were facing up was a detail he was surprised most people missed.

Lucy finally spoke. “What we’re about to do has never been done before. If Bobby and I are right, then there are people attached to these prints.” He and the rest of the Angels crossed themselves. “We’ll find out soon enough. All I ask is that you stay cool. No bolting at the first sign of freaky dead things. No pissing in your pants. All that I ask is that you suck it up and help us get through this excavation, because if there are Japanese soldiers, we have an even bigger problem to take care of when we’re done.”

All eyes stared at the prints.

“Let’s get on with it,” Bobby said. He brought down the shovel and scored the hard-packed earth.

The rest joined in, three on one side, four on the other. The earth was hard as rock. Bobby had to chip away at the first few inches with the sharp edge of the shovel before he could begin hauling away the dirt.

Manolo cursed as his shovel slipped and scraped across a footprint. Everyone paused for a long breath to see if anything would happen. When nothing did, they resumed their picking, each digger keeping a fair distance from the prints.

Blockbuster and Lucy worked right across from Bobby and he couldn’t help but overhear their whispered conversation.

“When I saw all the shovels and the look on Trujillo’s face, I thought you were going to kill me, Lucy.”

“That’s stupid. I thought it was obvious we were digging up upside-down Japanese.”

“I didn’t believe it. I thought you guys were just fucking with me.”

“So why’d you come?”

“Because you ordered me to, Lucy. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place and had to find my own way out of it.”

They dug for a while before Lucy responded. “You can’t pick your relatives.”

“Especially your in-laws. My wife’s cousin’s husband is in MS 13. It didn’t take them long to make the connection from her to me.”

“So when you disappeared...”

“I was getting her out of the city. We have friends in Chula Vista and I took my wife there. She’ll be safe, at least until things die down.”

“You should have told me this before,” Lucy said.

“I thought you’d be mad.”

“Why? Did you do anything?”

“No. They wanted me to, but I didn’t do anything.”

“Some people think you got Split killed.”

Blockbuster choked. “How could I have done that? We were best friends. I would have died for him.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You put me on the roof with Rafa to keep an eye on me, didn’t you?”

“I did. There were too many questions and not enough time to wait for the answers.”

“I’m an Angel, Lucy. An Angel first and last. Nothing will ever change that.”

“Good. We’re glad to have you back.”

“I never left.”

A minute later, Manolo jerked away. He dropped his shovel and fell to his knees. Crossing himself, he whispered over and over, “
Jesús Cristo
!”

It didn’t take long for all eyes to take in the target of Manolo’s fear, the pointed edge of his shovel that glistened wetly in the afternoon light. What looked like oil could have been anything. Dr. Pepper. Baby lotion.

Blood.

Each of them seemed as extraordinarily out of place as the other, but the mind was drawn to the possibility of the last, and the realization that as clumsy as Manolo was, that’s what it had to be.

“I guess that answers our question,” Bobby muttered.

“Come on. Dig you
pringao
motherfuckers. We knew it was going to be this way so stop acting all surprised.”

With that Lucy began digging with renewed vigor. The rest followed suit, as did Bobby, but he couldn’t help but notice the continual looks Lucy gave Manolo’s shovel.
Blood
. It meant they were alive, which meant they were really there. Bobby was unable to suppress a shudder that shook him from his ankles to the worried look in his eyes.

Vincent and Trujillo, who were working on the set of prints in the front, were the first to uncover an ankle. By working on either side of the footprints, they’d managed to scrape away dirt without hurting the body. Both men were on their knees, grasping their shovels near the blade for better control. Before them were two feet encased in rotting leather. Laces fell to dust as they no longer had the dirt to hold them in place. Gray leggings like gauze served as socks. Here and there skin showed through the rotted fabric, the protrusion of the ankle bone most recognizable.

Bobby put aside his shovel and knelt next to Vincent. They exchanged a hollow look, then stared again at the ankles sticking out of the small excavation in the earth. Surfers, fisherman, romantic couples and people of all walks of life had trod across these prints for more than sixty years, never once thinking there was anything more to them than plaster and concrete.

Lucy cleared his throat. “Let’s concentrate on this one. Try not to cut it up too badly. We don’t know what we’re going to find when we get to the...you know.”

The face.

The head.

The brain.

The mind of a Japanese soldier who’d been shoved headfirst in the ground for sixty years and was still capable of bleeding.

Bobby didn’t want to think about it. Instead, he joined the others as they began to enlarge the excavation site so that they could more easily get to the rest of the soldier. First the knees, then a few minutes later the legs. Without the earth to support them, the legs flopped to the side. Lucy gestured for Bobby to stabilize them. Against his wishes, he stood and grasped each of the ankles. At first he held them at arm’s length, but the strain on his arms was too much, so he finally hugged the feet to his chest as he straddled the hole. Beneath him, the others kept working, revealing more of the soldier.

The wool fabric of the uniform was rotting. Only the leather belt with ammo pouches and holster containing a black metal pistol and the leather strap crossing the soldier’s chest seemed to be serviceable. When the pistol was revealed, Vincent grabbed it and shoved it in his pocket. Trujillo glared at him for a moment, then went back to digging when Vincent merely smiled and shrugged.

They hadn’t found any arms yet. When they dug down to the shoulders they found out why. Whatever had happened to the soldier, he’d seen it coming, because his arms had been raised to block his face, as if it would protect him from the wrath of the
Bruja
.

Lucy exchanged glances with everyone. Manolo and the other banger named Freddie seemed ready to bolt. They had the same wild-eyed look in their eyes as a freshly captured animal. Vincent and Trujillo seemed unfazed. Blockbuster kept his lower lip firmly between his teeth. If Bobby had to guess, it was to keep from screaming.

“Enough of this,” Lucy said, standing and dropping his shovel. Let’s do it by hand the rest of the way. Manolo, you and Freddie grab the arms. After we jerk it free of the hole, we’re going to lay the body over there.”

Manolo and Freddie stared back without speaking.

Lucy ignored them and came face-to-face with Bobby, grasping the soldier’s legs from the other side. He motioned with his head that they’d pull the body to the left. Bobby nodded. Lucy counted to three, then both of them jerked. At first the body wouldn’t move, but they strained. The massive muscles in Lucy’s shoulders bunched and jumped like snakes beneath his soiled T-shirt. With a final snarl, he jerked the body free.

The sudden release sent Bobby staggering. Try as he might, he couldn’t find his balance and with a shout, he fell to the ground, still gripping the body. Lucy had let go. He stepped across the excavation and helped Bobby to his feet. They both grabbed the soldier’s legs and turned expectantly to Manolo and Freddie, but neither seemed willing to touch the body. Freddie began backing away as Manolo began to pray once more.

“That’s fucked up,” Vincent cursed.

Everyone’s attention went to the soldier’s face and took in the bulging eyes and the open mouth as a rotten tongue tried to work its way around words not spoken in more than half a century. What came out sounded like a cat at the end of its days, a noise as inhuman and gruesome as anything from Bobby’s nightmares.

Bobby and Lucy dropped the legs as everyone stared. Bobby found it hard to breath. He wanted to run, but couldn’t figure out how to tell his legs. He might have never left his spot if Blockbuster had not done what he did. With a scream that would make Freddy Krueger proud, Blockbuster brought his shovel in an overhead swing onto the soldier’s face. The flat edge pummeled the features, blood gushing and exploding across the ground. He raised the shovel once more and brought it down with all his might. The nose imploded, pieces of bone jutting free as it merged with the skull.

Still the thing wouldn’t stop its mewling.

Blockbuster brought the shovel up once more, turned it a quarter turn, and brought the keen edge of the blade down across the neck. It severed like a stick of fridge-hardened butter as the head rolled back in the hole and blood drenched the California soil.

Lucy cursed, knelt on the ground and reached into the hole. He grasped the head by the hair and pulled it free.

That was it.

Freddie bolted. Manolo fainted. Vincent and Trujillo grabbed each other by the shoulders, and Blockbuster fell to his knees.

When Lucy turned the head so that he could see the face, he saw the eyes still bulging. The tongue wagged in an open mouth as the soldier began to moan.

The eyes finally blinked, snapping Lucy from his fear. With a great heave of his arm, he hurled the soldier’s head high into the air, over the edge of the cliff and into the water below.