Psycho Save Us (3 page)

After a moment
of tugging from her little sister (“C’mon, Kaly!”), the eldest nigglet stepped
on inside and let the door close.  They walked to the back of the store, hand
in hand.

“Mac,” said the
fat man.

Spencer turned
back to him.  “What?”

“Name’s Mac,
playa.”

“Mac?” he
laughed, and saw the fat man tilt his head to one side.  “As in Big Mac?  As in
big as a Mack truck?”

“As in MAC-10,
muthafucka.  Plop, plop.”  He made a gun with his fingers, and aimed it at
Spencer’s head.

“Go ahead an’
charge me for a Dr. Pepper.”

“Fuh sho.”

“How much is
that?” he said, fetching out his wallet.  There was whispering behind him, and
he glanced over his shoulder to check the status on the little girls.  They had
made their way over to the chips aisle.  The oldest one had been handing her
little sister a bag of pretzels.  She was caught stealing a glimpse of Spencer,
and darted her eyes away as soon as he looked.  She finally dared to look again. 
He smiled at her, and again she quickly averted her gaze and pulled her sister
down another aisle.

“Usually?” Mac
said.  “Two-fitty.  Fuh you? 
Three
-fitty.”

“A rip-off, but
I’ll pay it.  I earned it.  I was very rude, wasn’t I?”

“Tru dat,
playa,” he said, snatching the five-dollar bill out of Spencer’s hand and
tossing it into the register.  He closed it without handing over change.

“Where’s my
change?”

“Asshole tax.” 
This time, it was Mac’s turn to smile.  He revealed silver grill with his name
carved in it:
MACTEN
.

“You know what?”
Spencer said, taking his burger and soda off the countertop.  “I like you Mac. 
I can honestly say that nobody could ever pay me enough to kill you.”  This
must have unsettled Mac for a moment, because he looked taken aback.  He pushed
himself away from the counter.  “Relax, it means I
wouldn’t
, big guy.  Ya
know Patrick, huh?  Of Pat’s Auto, I mean?  Have you got a phone that I can—?” 
He paused and moved out of the way of the two girls who now approached the
front counter.  “Sorry, ladies,” he said.  “I’m very rude standing here and
talkin’ while you’re waiting behind me.  I prostrate myself before you and beg
your forgiveness.”

The littlest
girl stuck her forefinger in mouth and started chewing on it, and looked up at
him dumbly.  The eldest girl gave him only a wary glance, and placed her bread,
cheese, ham, mayonnaise, pretzels, orange juice and Pop-Tarts up on the
counter.

“How’s it goin’,
Kaley?  How’s yo momma?”

“Fine,” said the
eldest girl in a low mumble.  “Here’s what we’ve got.”  She handed over a few
bills, none of it neatly folded.  Mac rang up all the items, then took the
money and handed back the girl’s change.

While this
happened, Spencer looked about the store, looking up at the camera in one
corner.  He looked beyond the shitty grill, and beyond it at a room with a
large door that looked pretty solid, and next to it there was a window,
undoubtedly Plexiglas.  He imagined Mac had some kind of weapon just behind the
counter. 
Maybe a MAC-10
, Spencer thought. 
Plop, plop
.

He glanced
outside at the four thugs.  Two of them were tossing surreptitious glances
through the window into the store, obviously stealing glances at the lone white
boy.  If I stay here much longer,
I’m likely to go outside and find all my
wheels missing
.  He went to ask Mac another question, but when he did he
caught sight of the eldest nigglet.  She was looking at him again out the
corner of her eye, and now looked away like a boy caught staring at his best
friend’s mother’s tits. 
The fuck’s her problem?

Paranoia crept
in then.  Paranoia like he hadn’t felt since the joint.  Strange, impossible scenarios
occurred to him.  Did the girl recognize him?  Was she one of those weird,
precocious nigglets who watched the news at a young age and kept up with shit
going on in other states?  Had she heard what he’d done?  Did she know Spencer
Adam Pelletier?  Did she know about the shootout in Baton Rouge, or the convict
that escaped from Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary two years ago? 
Happens
on
America’s Most Wanted
all the time
, he thought. 
Some random
civilian up an’ recognizes a killer that nobody else notices
.

Spencer looked
at the girl for a moment, knowing she would look again.  When she did, he shook
his head at her, slowly but enough so that she noticed.  It was a warning. 
Whatever
you think you know, don’t say anything
.  Then, he glanced down to the
littlest girl, presumably her sister, and then looked up at the eldest again. 
Remember,
you’ve got a sister to look out for
.

The eldest
accepted her change and her bagged groceries then turned quickly to get out of
there.  The door flew open, the jingling bells clanging against glass.  The two
girls jogged past the four black dudes outside, and were gone.

Spencer looked
up at Mac and said, “You got a phone?  I’m afraid I lost mine.”

“Why the fuck
would I let you use a phone when it means yo cracka ass be hangin’ around here
a minute longer?”

“Because,” he
said, pulling out a twenty, “there’s something in it for you.”  Spencer really
needed the phone.  He needed to see if he had any friends left in this town.

But on top of
being as big as one, Mac had obviously been
around
the block.  He had
knowledge of the kind of person Spencer was now.  After all, he was asking for
Patrick Mulley, owner of Pat’s Auto, a chop shop with a great legacy in the
A-T-L, so that right there said a lot.  That’s why “Big” Mac grew that smile,
and why he knew he could get away with saying, “Make it a solid
fitty
an’ you got a deal.”

Spencer smiled. 
He had money, but not much.  He reached into his wallet and pulled out five tens. 
“Ya drive a hard bargain, Mac, but I still love you.”

“You a weird
muthafucka,” he said, snatching the bills out of Spencer’s hand.  “You know
that.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Phone.  Now. 
Or I whip my dick out an’ piss on this floor.”

“You cleanin’ it
up, fool,” he said, tossing Spencer his cell.

“Ow!  You’re
hurting me!”  Shannon was pulling her arm away from her big sister, but Kaley
wouldn’t let go.  They had hustled down Kenton Street and were nearing
Beltway.  Almost home.

Kaley didn’t
know what had happened.  She didn’t know why she was even running now.  It
started when she opened the door to Dodson’s.  Her hand had frozen on the door
handle, unable to let go.  She’d looked at it, perplexed at first, then
terrified when she felt a dropping sensation, like plunging from the top of a
rollercoaster.  As a small girl, she’d had vertigo.  So bad that she often
couldn’t get out of bed because the world spun out of control.  So bad that the
doctor had prescribed pills that never worked, and Kaley had eventually just
grown out of it.  This was like vertigo, only not as sickening.

When she’d
finally found the strength to let go of the door and gone to step inside, she
had spotted the man with the kind eyes.  Tall, thin, and white.  Yes…white. 
Very
white.  Pale.  Like the vampires in those
Twilight
movies.  Only he
didn’t glitter like that…yet he did.  No, he didn’t, he just…he was paramount. 
Yes, that was the word.  Somehow, he felt important.  It wasn’t just his
otherworldly kind eyes, it was the Charm, she was sure of it.  It was letting
her know something about the man.  Was he going to kill her?  Was he going to
kill Shan?  Or someone else, maybe?

The feeling had
passed as abruptly as it came, and she had stepped on inside to get their
shopping done.  Still, something had lingered inside of her, something that
drew her to the man.  A connection had been made.  At least, that’s what Nan
would’ve said.

When she was as
little as Shannon was now, Kaley had gone to Centennial Olympic Park with
Ricky, one of her mother’s boyfriends at the time.  It was her birthday and all
she liked doing back then was going to big, open spaces where lots and lots of
people could be found.  Kaley didn’t know why.  She wasn’t especially social,
she just liked being around all the excitement, and from Olympic Park, one
could see loads of people walking amongst the fountains, with a backdrop of
mirror-like skyscrapers surrounding you, lots of kids running around, and
usually some kind of festival or concerts divvied up into smaller venues all
around.  She had gone there with Ricky and one of Ricky’s friends—her mother
hadn’t made it, she was “sick”, which really meant she was either on her meth
or was too unmotivated without it to go—and had been leaning over one of the
fountains and letting the water splash in her hands.  Ricky and his friend had
gone to get her a hot dog from a hot dog stand.  She was alone.  With her mind
on the fountain and her back to the rest of the world, Kaley had felt something
tiptoeing up to the forefront of her mind.  It was an idea, a notion, one that
filled her full of excitement and anticipation.

Someone’s gonna
propose to me
,
she thought.  That didn’t make any sense, because she wasn’t nearly old enough
to get married yet.  But something had definitely made her feel as though that
was going to happen.  She couldn’t say why.  She turned around, following the
general direction from whence the idea came.  She saw a white man.  He wasn’t
surrounded with an aura and he had no halo over his head, but somehow she knew
it was him that was generating a feeling.  It was her charm, and she was
feeling the anticipation created by an intention directed at…someone.

Kaley had
watched the man for a while.  He paced about, checking his watch here and there
until finally he was joined by a blonde woman.  He spoke words that Kaley
couldn’t hear.  Then, he sat the blonde woman down on the bench, knelt in front
of her, and started talking.  The man pulled out a small box, opened it, and
the woman wept and laughed all at once. 
What’s that all about?
she had
wondered at the time.  It wouldn’t be until days later that she would truly
stew on the fact that she had somehow known it was about to happen.  She had
felt the man’s anticipation over asking, and her young mind had believed the
man’s intentions were directed at her.

Kaley had played
with this notion for a couple of years, until one day she had mentioned this to
her mother and her Nan.  Her mother had rolled her eyes and said, “Oh, whatchoo
been tellin’ this girl?”  She had walked off, leaving the oldest and youngest
of the family sitting at table together.  Nan had leaned in and said, “Tell it
to me again.  Every last detail, chil’.”  And so she did.  When Kaley finished,
Nan looked troubled.  “You dun went an’ got the charm.”  She offered a smile,
but it seemed sad, like she was offering her condolences.  “Yo momma don’
believe, girl.  She won’t never.  She never listened to me when I would tell
her.  She won’ listen to
nuthin’
I say,” Nan had added.

“What do I do?”
Kaley had asked.

“You
hide
it, girl.  You hide it an’ you don’ tell nobody ever again.”  This was not the
advice she had thought she would get from her Nan.  Nan was always telling her
to stand up for herself, stand up for what she believed in, and not to be “one
o’ these dumbass heathens lettin’ our people backslide on what the good Dr.
King dun went an’ won for us.”  No, this wasn’t like Nan at all.  “You hide it
an’ only ever share what you see or hear or feel with
me
.  Hear, now?”

“Yes, Nan.”

And it had been
that way, until the day Nan died from her thyroid problems.  Kaley had gone to
her bedside, holding her hand.  Something had happened there, too. 
Something…that Kaley didn’t like to think about.  She was pretty sure these
days that she was just making it all up, that she had invented the whole story
in Olympic Park the way kids make stuff up and had just come to start believing
in it.  She also believed that she had made up every other feeling since then,
that she was just blowing it out of proportion.

That still
didn’t help it any when she was frozen in stasis at times from what her Nan
called the charm.  The white man back in Dodson’s Store had brought it on again,
and fiercely.  He was somehow emanating something concerning the future.  He
was on his way to do something, but he was also connected to her.  At least,
that’s the way it felt.  That’s the lie she was telling herself.

“It skips a
generation, ya know,” Nan had told her.  “That’s why yo momma don’ feel it. 
That’s why she don’
believe
it.  She can’t never.  It’s like convincin’
a blind man that there’s color, only he can’t see it.  He either believes in it,
or he keeps thinkin’ it ain’t there.  His choice.  Either way, he’ll never
really know.  Only people that
see
will know.  That’s our burden, girl. 
We see.”  Nan had given her another warning.  “Always listen to it.  Listen to
it, an’ others will, too.  Ya hear?  Unnerstan?”

“Yes, Nan.” 
Only she hadn’t, and, near the end, hadn’t wanted to.

Nan hadn’t
always known what she was talking about, anyway.  It would take her a full year
to start writing the dates on her checks correctly, and just when she got used
to it another New Year’s Day would arrive, kick-starting a whole new year of
frustration for her.  She thought Viagra was pronounced “Niagra”.  She
sometimes thought Bill Clinton was somehow still President of the United
States, or could somehow tell “that dumbass in the White House now what he
ought be doin’.”  Nan had been wrong about lots of things, even at the very end
when she claimed nothing was wrong with her.