Johnny Halloween (3 page)

“You know,” he said, “I hadn’t thought about you for years and years. And then I saw that picture in the paper, and damned if I wasn’t surprised that you’d actually gone and become a cop. Man oh man, that idea took some getting used to. So I said to myself,
Jack, now you’ve just got to go see old Dutch before you die, don’t you?”

He knelt before me, his blue eyes floating in the black triangles of that orange mask. “See, I wanted to thank you,” he said. “Going to Mexico was the best thing that ever happened to me. I made some money down there. Had a ball. They got lots of pretty boys down there, and I like ’em young and dark. Slim, too—you know, before all those frijoles and tortillas catch up to ’em. You never knew that about me, did you, Dutch? Your brother did, you know. I had a real hard-on for his young ass, but he only liked pussy. You remember how he liked his pussy? Man, how he used to talk about it. Non-fucking-stop! Truth be told, I think he maybe liked the talkin’ better than the doin’. And
you
so shy and all. Now that was funny. You two takin’ your squirts under the same skirt.”

“You got a point in here somewhere, or are you just trying to piss me off?”

“Yeah. I got a point, Dutch.”

Johnny Halloween took off the pumpkin mask, and suddenly I had the crazy idea that he was wearing Willie’s skull mask beneath it. His blue eyes were the same and his wild grin was the same, but the rest of his face was stripped down, as if someone had sucked all the juice out of him.

“It’s what you get when you play rough with pretty boys and don’t bother to wear a raincoat,” he said. “AIDS. The doctors say it ain’t even bad yet. I don’t want it to get bad, y’see.”

I stared at him. I couldn’t even blink.

He gave me the gun. “You ready to use it now?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry,” I said, and I was surprised to find that I really meant it.

“Let me help you out, Dutch.” That wild grin welded on Death’s own face. “See, there’s a reason it took me so long to get to the cemetery tonight. I had to swing past your place and talk to Helen. Did a little trick-or-treating and got me some Snickers. Nothing more, nothing less. And when I’d had my fill, I told her everything.”

There was nothing I could say….

“Now, I want you to do it right the first time, Dutch. Don’t drag it out.”

…so I obliged him.

****

It took two hours to get things done. First I heaved up as much tequila as I could. Then I drove ten miles into the desert and dumped Johnny Halloween’s corpse. Next I headed back to the cemetery, got in Johnny’s El Camino, and drove two miles north to a highway rest stop. There were four or five illegals standing around who looked like they had no place to go and no way to get there. I left the windows down and the keys in the ignition and I walked back to the cemetery, hoping for the best.

On the way home I swung down Orchard and tossed Johnny’s pistol into some oleander bushes three houses up from the liquor store.

My house was quiet. The lights were out. That was fine with me. I found Helen in the kitchen and untied her. I left the tape over her mouth until I said my piece.

I didn’t get through the whole thing, though. Toward the end I ran out of steam. I told her that Johnny and Willie and me had pulled the robberies because we hated being so damn poor. That it seemed easier to take the money than not to take it, with me being the clerk and such a good liar besides. I explained that the Halloween job was going to be my last. That I’d been saving those little scraps of money so we could elope, so our baby wouldn’t have to come into the world a bastard.

It hurt me, saying that word. I never have liked it. Just saying it in front of Helen is what made me start to crack.

My voice trembled with rage and I couldn’t control it anymore. “Johnny took me over to his house that day,” I said. “All the time laughing through that wild grin. He had me peek in the window…and I saw Willie on top of you…and I saw you smiling….”

I slapped Helen then, just the way I’d slapped the Mexican girl at the liquor store, like she didn’t mean anything to me at all.

“I was crazy.” I clenched my fists, fighting for control. “You know how I get…. Everything happened too damn fast. They came to the store that night, and I was still boiling. I planned to kill them both and say I hadn’t known it was them because of the masks, but it didn’t work out that way. Sure, I shot Willie. But I had to shoot him three times before he died. I wanted to kill Johnny, too, but he got away. So I changed the story I’d planned. I hid Willie’s skull mask, and I hid the gun and the money, and I said that Willie had been visiting me at the store when a lone bandit came in. That bandit was Johnny Halloween, and he’d done the shooting. And all the time that I was lying, I was praying that the cops wouldn’t catch him.”

I blew my nose and got control of myself. Helen’s eyes were wide in the dark, and there was a welt on her cheek, and she wasn’t moving. “I was young, Helen,” I told her. “I didn’t know what to do. It didn’t seem right—getting married, bringing a baby into the world when I couldn’t be sure that I was the father. I wanted everything to be just right, you know? It seemed like a good idea to use the money for an abortion instead of a wedding. I figured we’d just go down to Mexico, get things taken care of. I figured we’d have plenty of time for kids later on.”

That’s when I ran out of words. I took the tape off of Helen’s mouth, but she didn’t say anything. She just sat there.

I hadn’t said so much to Helen in years.

I handed her the tequila bottle. There was a lot left in it.

Her hands shook as she took it. The clear, clean liquor swirled. The worm did a little dance. I turned away and quit the room, but not fast enough to miss the gentle slosh as she tipped back the bottle.

I knew that worm didn’t stand a chance.

****

I don’t know why I went out to the garage. I had to go somewhere, and I guess that’s where a lot of men go when they want to be alone.

I shuffled some stuff around in my toolbox. Cleaned up the workbench. Changed the oil in the truck. Knowing that I should get rid of the pumpkin mask, but just puttering around instead.

All the time thinking. Questions spinning around in my head.

Wondering if Helen would talk.

Wondering if I’d really be able to pin the clerk’s murder on the Mexican girls. Not only if the charges would stick, but if I had enough left in me to go through with it.

Wondering if my deputies would find Johnny’s corpse, or his El Camino, or if he’d left any other surprises for me that I didn’t know about.

They were the kind of questions that had been eating at me for thirty years, and I was full up with them.

My breaths were coming hard and fast. I leaned against the workbench, staring down at the pumpkin mask. Didn’t even know I was crying until my tears fell on oily rubber.

It took me a while to settle down.

I got a .45 out of my tool chest. The silencer was in another drawer. I cleaned the gun, loaded it, and attached the silencer.

I stared at the door that led to the kitchen, and Helen. Those same old questions started spinning again. I closed my eyes and shut them out.

And suddenly I pictured Johnny Halloween down in Mexico, imagined all the fun he’d had over the years with his pretty boys and his money. Not my kind of fun, sure. But it must have been something.

I guess the other guy’s life always seems easier. Sometimes I think even Willie’s life was easier. I didn’t want to start thinking that way with a gun in my hands.

I opened my eyes.

I unwrapped a Snickers bar, opened the garage door. The air held the sweet night like a sponge. The sky was going from black to purple, and soon it would be blue. The world smelled clean and the streets were empty. The chocolate tasted good.

I unscrewed the silencer. Put it and the gun in the glove compartment along with the three hundred and fifteen bucks Johnny Halloween had stolen from the liquor store.

Covered all of it with the pumpkin mask.

I felt a little better, a little safer, just knowing it was there.

SATAN’S ARMY

Tonight is his night! Halloween belongs to the Prince of Darkness! It’s not a night for children, and it’s certainly not a night for celebration. No, it’s a night to be wary, a night to lock your doors and read your Bible. And I know that’s exactly what you good folks would be doing if the stakes weren’t so high, right here, right now.

“I want to say that I’m very proud that you’ve chosen to be here with me, standing shoulder to shoulder against those who stand with the enemy. And I mean that, for those who stand against us stand with Satan, and they are evil! Oh, they may look perfectly innocent—they may look like your neighbor or your librarian or your friendly grocery clerk—but we know ’em! We can sniff ’em out! Satan’s army is marching, brothers and sisters, and we must stop it. Right here, right now!”

Reverend Woodbury spun from the podium and was off of the platform and into the waiting limousine before his followers could begin to applaud. His right-hand man, Brother Bishop, lagged a half step behind—a studied half step that allowed the crowd’s riotous cheers to fill the limo before he slammed the bullet-proof door behind him.

Reverend Woodbury’s strength of will was sometimes a fragile thing, and Brother Bishop wouldn’t allow it to be tested tonight. “Listen to them,” he said. “They love you, Woody. They really feel the Holy Spirit.”

“I hope the rest of the evening goes so smoothly. Any more speeches? I don’t mind saying that my voice has about had it.”

“Let’s see. You’ve hit the prayer rally down at the church on Virginia Street, the school board meeting, the demonstration over at that theatre that’s showing The Wizard of Oz , and unless you want to hit that video store over on the Florida Street Mall—”

“No. I’d just say the same things I said about
Oz , and then I’d have to listen to those TV reporters ask their asinine questions all over again. Lord, how those fools try to make it all seem so silly. They can’t understand how a child’s mind accepts evil. They think that a story about wizards and witches is just innocent fun and games. Why, that filthy tale is nothing but dark magic and murder. It glorifies the supernatural! I tell you Bishop, we’ve got to stop it! All of it!”

Brother Bishop patted his friend’s knee. “We’re going to stop it. Tonight will be the last Halloween this city will ever see. Now, don’t you worry about that.”

****

“Hand over the crowbar.”

“You want it now? Ain’t there an alarm, or—”

“This is a public library, not Fort Knox. Generally speaking, such institutions don’t have elaborate surveillance systems.”

“You mean there ain’t an alarm, right?”

“Look, just give me the crowbar.”

****

Vicky Taylor passed a bag of Hershey’s Kisses over the grocery scanner, following it with a bag of Snickers, a package of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, and two bags of 3 Musketeers.

“Marge, did you leave
anything on aisle nine?” Vicky asked.

The town librarian smiled. “I just hope I haven’t missed all the trick-or-treaters. That damn school board meeting ran into overtime, as usual. Our friend Woodbury went on a regular filibuster.”

Vicky sighed. “I would have been there, but old man Myers put me on the night shift this week. He’s been treating me like pond slime since I went to that city council meeting with you. In fact, I’m beginning to think that he’s a member of the reverend’s flock.”

“Y’know, it’s getting so you can’t tell the good guys from the bad guys around here.”

“That’s the truth. How’d the meeting go, anyway?”

“Not good. The board agreed to pull
The Wizard of Oz from the grammar school library.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Nope. They say they’re going to keep one copy behind the desk to circulate to kids whose parents sign a consent form, but you know how long that’ll last—I’ll bet my ACLU card that one of the reverend’s followers will have their little angel borrow the book and ‘lose’ it.”

Money changed hands. “I guess they’ll be coming after your copies next.”

“Yeah. They won’t get them so easily, though. Woodbury may have that sad excuse for a school librarian in his pocket, but he doesn’t have me.”

Vicky bagged the groceries. “I wish I could have been there. I’ve got three kids in that school. They’ve all read the Oz books, and they haven’t sacrificed the family cat to the powers of darkness. Not yet, anyway.”

“Who’s taking care of the little darlings tonight?”

“First they’re going trick-or-treating on their own. That’s until nine. Then they’re going to report to the Johnsons next door.”

Marge cradled the grocery bag. “Ah, the pleasures of single parenthood. Look, I’ll give the little angels lots of candy if they come my way. What costumes should I look for?”

Vicky winked. “I’ve got one Tin Woodman, one Cowardly Lion, and one Dorothy.”

“Oh, you devil you,” Marge said.

****

“Reverend Woodbury, do you really believe that the flying monkeys and talking apple trees in The Wizard of Oz are agents of Satan?”

“That kind of question trivializes our point of view. On the whole, this kind of fantasy ruins young minds. It takes our sons and daughters away from the Christian world, the real world. It endangers their innocent souls. Just like this Halloween holiday, just like that Dungeons & Dragons game, films of this kind cajole and tempt young people into accepting Satan.”

“So, simply put, what you’re saying is that
The Wizard of Oz leads to satanic worship?”

“There you go again, putting words in my mouth. I’m saying that the Devil is strong in this country today, and getting stronger every second. Incidents of ritual abuse have been well documented. Sites of satanic worship are being discovered all the time—in public parks, in public buildings, right here in suburbia. But some people don’t want us to see the reality of the situation. They’d have us believe that incidents of graveyard vandalism are just youthful hi-jinks, not ceremonies that pay tribute to—”

“We interrupt this interview with a report of a fire at the Florida Street Mall. It appears that the blaze began at Pandora’s Box, a video store that specializes in fantasy and horror films. The business closed early this evening after a demonstration by members of Reverend Woodbury’s Christcorps degenerated into a fistfight between customers and demonstrators, and the fire began shortly after local police—”

“Dad, turn off that television and help me wash these apples.”

“Glad to, Mother. Just the same old stuff, anyhow.”

“I said wash ’em, don’t bruise ’em.”

“Well, crikey, this water’s cold. Bound to lose my grip on one or two, with my arthritis.”

“Lord, I hate fires. My favorite yarn shop is two doors down from that video place, and I sure hope it doesn’t burn.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Mother. Maybe you’ll get to go to a fire sale.”

“That’s not funny, Dad.”

“S’pose you’re right. Y’know, this town used to be a pretty nice place to live.”

“Maybe it will be again.”

“Yep…Good apples this year. Big. Green…”

****

“So, Miss Vicky Taylor, I imagine that your children are out doing the Devil’s business tonight.”

“Look, Alice, I’m just here to total your groceries. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Not a chance! If you think I’m going to buy my family’s food from one of Lucifer’s harlots, you’ve got another thing coming. I just won’t, that’s all! You can spend the rest of your evening putting these things back on the shelves, and you can tell your boss that I’ll be shopping elsewhere until you’re fired! And one more thing: you keep your little imps away from my door, Miss Vicky Taylor, or I’ll swat them with my Bible and send them straight to hell!”

The woman stalked off. Vicky stared at the full cart of groceries. Myers would be furious when he heard about the Christcorps’ latest form of protest, and the stock clerks wouldn’t be pleased about it, either. Especially if such dramatics got to be a regular event.

Vicky pushed the cart aside. She imagined Alice Wentworth sitting in her car, telling her prayer pals how well her stunt had worked.

Our little reverend’s just full of tricks, isn’t he?
Vicky thought as she returned to the register.

A man was waiting for her. Judging from the way he was carrying on, Vicky guessed that he’d seen the entire incident.

She grinned. The man was wearing a Scarecrow costume complete with a burlap mask. He had one finger pointed at his forehead, and he said in a rough voice, “If I only had a brain. Am I right?”

Vicky laughed and rang up the man’s purchases.

Eight T-bone steaks. Twelve candles. A coil of rope. A pumpkin. A can of lighter fluid.

The Scarecrow paid her. She bagged the items.

“Keep the faith,” he said, and then he wobbled out the door, as crazy-legged as Ray Bolger ever was.

“I never seen so many books.”

“Here we are. 133.4. Bag ’em.”

“Right away. Boy, who would have ever thought that people would write so much about this kind of stuff?”

“It sure does make the head spin, doesn’t it? C’mon, get busy…Okay. That’s enough. I’ll carry these out to the car. You take the flashlight and go find that book the boss wanted.”

“Sure. What’s the number on it?”

“It’s fiction, not nonfiction.”

“Yeah. Right. But what’s the number on it?”

****

“Apples are all clean, Mother.”

“Good job, Dad. Now comes the hard part.”

“Gee whiz. Ain’t seen one of these since you gave me the safety razor last Christmas.”

“That was two Christmases ago, Dad. Now, mind you don’t cut yourself.”

****

Beautiful view from up
here,
the Scarecrow thought.
Stars above and city below.

His assistants had already planted the fence posts. The Scarecrow peeled plastic wrap and Styrofoam away from the T-bones. He circled the posts, squeezing blood from the meat. Then he crisscrossed the circle, blood dribbling between his gloved fingers as he formed the sign of the pentagram.

The Scarecrow’s assistants pulled lengths of kindling from the bed of the rented pickup truck. While the masked man placed candles around the circle, they piled the wood around the posts.

“Not too much just yet.” The Scarecrow’s words puffed the burlap mask away from his face. “Remember, we’ve got to tie ’em to the posts first, and you might get yourself a nasty splinter scrambling around knee-deep in tinder.”

The men laughed. One moved to light a cigarette.

“I didn’t say that you should quit working.” The Scarecrow pointed at the truck. “One of you can carve the pumpkin. And someone better make sure that cat hasn’t scratched its way out of that burlap sack.”

****

Marge caught the phone on the third ring. “Is this Marge King, the librarian?”

“Yes. That’s me.”

“Got your nose in a big thick book, bitch? Or do you got a big thick book jammed up your filthy cunt while you dream about Satan’s big black cock? Bet you like that, huh? Bet you get all juicy dreaming about—”

The librarian slammed down the receiver. Stared at the phone. Waited for it to ring again.

No. Not tonight. She’d heard more than enough for one night.

The doorbell rang, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Hating the fear that made her fingers shake, Marge King unplugged the phone.

She answered the door, a basket of candy cradled under one arm.

No one was there.

****

“Well, Henry, thanks for letting me use your phone.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Say, mind if I help myself to an apple?”

“Well, not
those
apples.”

“Oh yeah. Silly me.”

“Here you go. Saved this one for you special.”

“Thanks, Henry. My, but you grow the best…Big and green.”

“Whoa, now. There’s that danged doorbell again…and here’s the little woman. Mother, take a look at your favorite Brother!”

“Why, I’ll be. I just wouldn’t know you, Brother Bishop!”

“Sally, tonight I wouldn’t even know myself.”

****

The Tin Woodman, the Cowardly Lion, and Dorothy stood at the door.