Shadows Burned In (13 page)

Kitts lay in his bunk, his mouth screaming at him. The
doctor had had to pull two more teeth, one in the front up top and one on the upper-left
side. They’d be able to make him a bridge, the doctor said, but not till the
dentist made his monthly rounds. For now, it would be painkillers and a
mouthful of gauze to soak up the bloody seepage that was still coming now and
then. The bruises on his back and the backs of his knees were purpling up, but
the drugs for his mouth were keeping the pain at bay for now. He’d floated away
for an unknown amount of time on a lake of painkillers. They’d brought him
dinner in his cell, had slipped it through the slot, and the shit on a shingle
still sat there, cold on the concrete floor. He looked at it. Chicken-fried
steak, mashed potatoes, green beans, a half-ear of corn, and a hard roll.
Cold
comfort for the Cooler King
, he joked in his head. All of it but the beans
and potatoes would be impossible for him to eat.

Ramirez probably knows that too
, Kitts thought.
Probably
had it specially prepared for me so I could lie here and look at it and know I
can’t eat it. God, I hate that sonofabitch.

“Kitts!” came the urgent whisper. It was after midnight,
after lockdown, and the man in the cell next to him knew the penalty for
talking after hours. “Kitts, you ’wake?” the voice came again. “You der?”

Kitts pulled the cotton out of his mouth, wiping away the
rope of spittle it dragged out of him. “I’m here,” he whispered back. It was
hard to talk at all. And he was tempted to be silent, for fear of another round
with a guard. But he and his fellows had so little privacy that any stolen
moment to speak without worrying a guard was listening was usually worth the
risk. “Whatayou want, Stu?” he slobber-mumbled. “Been beat once ’day.”

“Yeah,” said Stu Metzger, more quietly this time. “We saw.
What happened, man? Refuse to give old Ramirez a blowjob?”

Kitts semi-smiled at that and winced at the pain it caused.
Yeah
,
he thought.
That’s what happened. And it’s how I lost my teeth too. I
finally got fed up with blowing the bastard and chomped down hard. Then he beat
me off. Get it?
He
beat
me
off. Funny, huh?

“I one-upped him,” he said simply. “Never one-up a guard,
Stu. Number One Rule.” He thought on that a minute, then amended, “Make that
Rule Number Two. Number One Rule is, find the daddy of the family you want to
join, then spread your cheeks wide the first week. Less painful that way in the
long run.”

“Yeah,” said Stu again in that long, drawn-out whine of
acquiescence of his. “You know a lot, just bein here a few months.” Then Stu’s
tone changed, as if he’d just scratched off the final winning lottery number.
“I can’t believe nobody knows de udder reason you here, man—”

“
Shut up
,” Kitts hissed. It came out less menacing
because of his missing teeth, something like
Shuth uph
. “I told you I
had your number with Daddy Wallace. Best keep your mouth
shut
, Stu.”
Kitts raised himself up off the cot, though it was painful to do so and Stu
couldn’t see him anyway. “Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Sorreh, man, I don’t wanna git you in
no trouble. I just—”

“You just shut up is all. It’s enough they know I killed
somebody. The other don’t matter anyhow,” he lied. Stu knew he was lying and
Kitts knew he knew, but he had Stu cowed enough that it didn’t matter. Ramirez
hadn’t told anyone either, which Kitts couldn’t quite believe. Maybe that would
change after today. But for now he was graced with the space most will give a
confessed murderer. Maybe Ramirez hadn’t told anyone because he knew, like
everyone else in here, that one word about it and Kitts would be butt-fucked
with a broom handle and his head stove in with crowbars. And Ramirez wanted
Kitts to enjoy his time in here, oh yeah. No easy outs for Kitts.
That must
be it
, he thought.
Nothing else makes any sense
.

“Now drop it, y’hear? Never bring it up again. Y’hear?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Sorreh, man.”

There was a long silence in which Kitts closed his eyes and
wondered at his luck for having to place confidence in a mole like Stu. First
free BJ or pack of cigarettes, and he’d spill his guts.
Honor among thieves,
my ass
. He breathed through the holes in his teeth. The warm air soothed
the sockets. He made sure to inhale through his nose.
But at least somebody
has to ask the right question. At least Stu don’t have the presence of mind to
volunteer it unasked. At least
—

“So you embarrassed Ramirez, ay?” Stu asked. Kitts could
tell he was forcing his tone to be light, hoping Kitts wasn’t still mad at him.
Good
, Kitts thought.
As long as he stays worried, I’m okay
.

“Yeah,” whispered Kitts.
Follow the scolding with a
little soothing
, he thought.

“What’d you say, hey?”

Kitts smiled as he remembered, then let it drop since stretching
his face even that much caused him pain. “I said he had a small dick,” he said.
“In front of his woman.”

“
Ooooo
,” started Stu, and Kitts shushed him down. Stu
went on laughing, but Kitts could tell he had his face shoved in a pillow.

Jesus, if he don’t get us both beat for talking
. . .

Kitts cocked his ear toward the cell bars, listening for any
echo of footsteps on the stone floor outside. After a minute Stu caught his
breath and said, “Oh man, you good. You got balls wi’dat one, Kitts. Oh man,
balls wi’dat one.”

Kitts half smiled again, ignoring the pain this time. The
beating was almost worth it. Even if halfpennies like Stu were the only ones
impressed, it was
almost
worth it.

He lay on his bunk, staring up at the gray stone. He heard
the wheels of Stu’s brain cranking to come up with more conversation. He could
hear the little gerbil churning away in there, wheel spinning, axle squeaking
from lack of maintenance.

“Well, don’t worry ’bout de beatin,” said Stu. “It wurd it
to get ole Sarge in public like dat.” Kitts could hear the self-satisfied
smile. He cleared his throat, though not too loudly, so Stu could hear for
effect.

“You ever been beat, Stu?”

Stu had been in the joint forever. He’d been beat when
beating didn’t make the news exposés. He’d been beat when beating was the way
you woke inmates up in the morning.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I seen my share.”

“Then shut the fuck up,” said Kitts. “Next time
you
take on Ramirez. Tag, you’re it.”

“I sorreh, Kitts, I didn’t mean nuthin . . .”

Kitts blew out a warm, soothing breath.
Best not be too
hard on him
, he thought.
Else they find out about those kids and you’ll
get more than a baton from Ramirez. The fucking bastard. All of ’em. Every last
goddamned one. Including this shit-for-brains here
.

“Go to sleep, Stu,” he said. “It don’t mean nothin. Go on to
sleep.”

“Yeah, okay,” whispered Stu, as quietly as he’d spoken in
their whole conversation. “G’night, Kitts. But you got balls, man, you got—”

“Yeah, yeah, g’night, Stu.”

He heard Stu turn over in his bunk and exhale once, long and
loud. Kitts stared up at the blackness above him, tried to make out the cracks
in the ceiling he knew were there. Just for something to do to pass the time
because now, thanks to Numbnuts Metzger, he wasn’t sleepy. Stu’s mention of
Kitts’s other reason for being in the joint had riled him, got the juices
flowing again. The throbbing ache had finally beaten back the painkillers. His
mouth pounded.

I’m getting out of here
, he thought.
Come hell or
high water, I’m getting out of here. A little patience, a little planning,
that’s all it’ll take. I’m getting the fuck out of here
.

He thought about turning over to relieve the pressure on his
back, decided against it, and closed his eyes.

And I’m gonna kill that motherfucker Ramirez. And that
cunt he’s with. If it’s the
last
fucking thing I ever do.

Chapter 12

Theron was walking—bounding, really—ahead of David. Every
few steps he would turn around, throw his hands up and say, “Oh man, that
rocked!”

For his part, David was still shivering. He thought about
the hairlipped maw of Old Suzie standing over him, her great bulk blocking his
escape, her iron grip clutching his cape, reeling him in

(you’re pretty small, boy)

like a fish on a line, closer and closer

(but I won’t throw you back, no sir)

until finally the material had ripped and he’d pulled
free and run for his life onto the porch

creakcreakcreak

and into the night.

“Did that rock or what?” Theron’s voice seemed to plead for
a little support. A little recognition.
Hey, buddy, help me out here. Did
that rock or what
?

“Yeah,” said David. “I guess so.”

“You
guess
so?” Theron stopped dead in his tracks and
David walked into him.

David rolled his eyes.
I should’ve just played along. Like
with Dad
.

Turning around, Theron said, “Man, that was the most fun
I’ve had in this shithole of a town in a long time!”

David nodded, looking down at his shoes. They had mud on
them. Old Suzie’s mud. “Yeah, I g—I mean, yeah, it was a
blast
!” He
tried to animate the word to make it sound like what it said.

“So, what’s up with you?” asked Theron. His voice had a
sarcastic quality to it, like he was pissed David had dared to spoil the most
fun he’d had in this shithole of a town in a long time.

“Dude, I don’t know,” said David, dropping the pretense.
“But that old woman scares the living shit outta me. Always has. And when she
had hold of me and was pulling me toward her—dude, I could
smell
her
breath
.
It smelled like cigarettes and beer, pouring out on me like she was trying to
gas me or something. I can’t explain it better’n’that. But I don’t ever want to
go back and do it again. Scared the shit outta me. I’m telling you, I came
this
close to being Batman stew. I just know it.”

Theron looked at him for a moment. He had his Spider-Man
mask on top of his head again, like a hat. He cocked his head to one side, and
it reminded David of Queenie. Then Theron burst out laughing. It wasn’t slow in
coming. It didn’t bubble up. It gushed out of him like a dam bursting.

David stood there and let it flow over him, his head
lowering, his eyes looking out from under his brows at his friend. “It’s not
funny,” he said softly.

Theron draped one hand onto David’s shoulder for support, as
if he might fall over otherwise. David sloughed off the hand. “Aw . . . come
on, man . . . you’re not serious?” Theron managed between breaths.

“You know I’m serious, you fucker.” David’s voice was barely
audible. Like it was challenging Theron’s ears to hear it.

The other boy’s laughter tapered off after a few more jerky
breaths. His Joker’s grin faded into a stern wall. “Hey, don’t call me a
fucker. Just because you’re a
coward
.”

David stared at him.
Coward? Did he just call me a coward?
“Why not? That’s what you are.” David’s voice was heavier, somehow, though
still low and slow. A lion stretching a rope taut. “Fucker.”

Theron pushed him once in the chest.

“Don’t push me,” said David. “Fucker.”

Theron took a swing. David ducked, wondering somewhat seriously,
How would Batman handle this?
Theron’s weight carried him through. David
caught his friend’s swinging arm and used the other boy’s momentum to turn him
around, wrapping Theron’s arm behind his back. With Theron off-balance and
facing him side-on, David planted the sole of his right foot in the back of
Theron’s right knee, forcing the hinge to buckle just like he’d done more than
once to ornery folding table legs at school picnics. Before he knew it, Theron
was on the ground, screaming “Heeeyyyyyyy,” and trying in vain to get up. But
David’s weight was on him now, so whatever the other boy did only brought pain
to his knee or his right shoulder. “Heeyyyy, get off me, you shithead! That
hurts
!”

“I’ll get off you when you say you’re sorry,” said David
matter of factly. It was only now dawning on him what he’d done. He hadn’t even
realized he’d put Theron on the ground till he’d demanded an apology. Then, suddenly
being quite aware of what he’d done, he had no idea what to do next.

“Screw you!” said Theron in a burst of prideful
testosterone.

Now it had sunk in. He had Theron down. And Theron was
pissed. And David was scared again.

“You weren’t caught, Theron,” he said trying to explain
himself. “You didn’t smell her
breath
. You didn’t see inside her
mouth
.”

The pain was getting to Theron now. “All right, all right!
I’m sorry, dude. Let me up, goddammit!”

David released him and backed up, ready for the fight to continue.
He really hadn’t meant to hurt Theron. But he couldn’t stand that goddamned
laughing at him. Couldn’t
stand
it.

Theron pushed himself up off the ground, massaging his
shoulder. “Damn, David! You really hurt me, man!”

David put out his hands in front of him to ward off the
coming fight. “I’m sorry, dude. You shouldn’t have laughed at me.”

Theron stared at him a moment. David waited for the
real
fight
to start. And he wasn’t sure if he’d fight back, either. He wasn’t sure he deserved
the
right
to fight back. He really hadn’t meant to hurt his friend.

“All right, man, I’m sorry.
Geez
. Remind me to stay
on your
good
side.”

David exhaled.

“I’m going home,” Theron announced, turning toward his
house.

David looked after him, tempted to apologize again, then
grew mad at himself for being such a pussy. Theron
had
laughed at him.

He walked the rest of the way home. David hated feeling like
he was two people all the time. One, the boy he wanted to be, tough and strong
and nice and thoughtful, all at the same time. The other: angry, just angry,
everything about him red with rage and ready to fight over anything. Maybe he
should’ve gone as The Hulk, he thought. Bruce Banner never remembered what he
did when he got angry and went crazy either. He thought again about attacking
Theron and how he didn’t even remember how it happened, just remembered
standing there, unsure what to do next. The Hulk had gone back into hiding, and
David in his Batman costume had come back, scared and unsure. And that just
made him angry again, this time at himself and not even knowing why.

He stalked quietly up to his house, making his way through
the garage. Tiny padding sounds came at him, and he hurried the large garage
door down, trying to be as quiet as he could. Behind him a growl sounded.

“It’s
me
, girl,” he said. “Shhhh.” Queenie began
wagging her tail. Her mouth dropped open in a welcoming pant as she looked up
at him with those big eyes. He bent down to pet her on the head and scratched
behind her ears. She took it in with a moan of contentment. Petting her always
made him feel better, Hulk or no Hulk.

“You still got food?” he asked, and she perked up her ears
and turned her head slightly at the question. It was like she’d trained herself
to respond in certain ways when the humans made certain sounds and used certain
tones. This sound was one she recognized. She wagged her tail faster.

David walked through the door leading from the garage to the
small breezeway that connected it to the house. He noticed her empty bowl, just
outside the back door. Picking it up, he dipped it in the bin of Ken-L Ration
dry food. She waved her tail more excitedly at the sound. As he set the bowl
down, it made a satisfyingly heavy, grainy landing on the cement.

“Water?”

But she was too busy snuffling the contents of the bowl. She
looked up at him, seemingly disappointed.

“No scraps tonight, girl,” he said. “You’re stuck with what
you’ve got.”

She exhaled rather loudly, then thrust her snout into the
bowl again.

David walked over to the hose and began to fill the large
water bowl. He hadn’t remembered to do this before running off to light
firecrackers under Old Suzie’s broomstick.

Dumbass
, his brain said in his father’s voice.
First
things first and second things second, and that’s if you have time for them
.
This was another of his father’s life lessons that plagued him from time to
time. He knew Queenie was his first priority compared to Halloween shenanigans,
as his father would’ve called them. But sometimes he forgot.

Dumbass
.

He finished filling the tub and turned the water off. Fed.
Watered. Ears ruffled. And it was late. “Time to brave the old man, girl,” he
said as he walked to the back door. Being busy with more important things, she
didn’t raise her head.

As he walked into the kitchen, he heard the television going
in the living room. He glanced at the oven clock, which read 9:38. By now his
father would be on his second six-pack, which meant he didn’t leave his chair
except to urinate and go to bed, right after the sports on the ten o’clock
news. David walked past the oven, turned left immediately, and went down the
short hallway to his room. He wanted to get out of his costume before his
father heard him and came looking for him on one of his bathroom jaunts. If his
father found the costume ripped, he’d take David to task for not being more
careful, for being wasteful. Then he’d take him to task for buying the thing in
the first place. His father’s parents had grown up in the Depression, and like
all Depression-era children, thought it better to eat a rotten apple than let
it go to waste, because you just never knew if you’d have food tomorrow.

David made it to his room unmolested.
Base!
he always
thought at this point in the game of hide-and-seek he often played with the old
man. When he made it to his room he felt safe, though he’d learned more than
once that the feeling was just an illusion. But at least in this house, his
room felt the safest. The most
his
.

He walked in, shut the door, and turned on the light. He
hoped his father wouldn’t need to pee before he got his costume off and his
bedclothes on. Otherwise, he might notice the closed door and light underneath,
and then he’d just come barreling through it without knocking and lecture David
on airflow and how the electric bill was too high because David had to have his
goddamned
privacy
. Old Man Jackson would say it in a tone strikingly
similar to how the kids at school, including David, taunted Regina Va-jeena.
But for now, he could hear a rerun of an old show his father loved called
Hunter
mumbling through the door from the living room. As usual, the old man
seemed to prefer the volume up louder when he drank.

David shed the Batman costume quickly, not much caring if he
ripped it any more in the process. His father had opened all the windows in the
house, so the airflow thing might be a
real
problem if he had to pee
anytime soon. The cool air of October’s final evening kissed David’s cheek as
he stood there only in his underwear. It tickled the sweat he’d worked up in
Old Suzie’s house and the fight with Theron. He opened his closet and sifted
through the huge box of comic books (
Batman
, of course, but also
Superman
,
the entire
Justice League
, and his personal favorite, the reprints of
the late 1960s’
Sgt. Fury and His Howling Commandos
). He lifted a stack
of those, went one level deeper and pulled back the one issue each of
Playboy
,
Penthouse
, and
Hustler
Theron had given him last year as a birthday
present—which he guarded dearer than just about anything else he had—and stored
the costume underneath. He would dispose of it in the morning. His father never
went through his closet, so it should be safe till he could get rid of it.

Smirking at himself, he pulled out an Incredible Hulk
T-shirt and put it on. He decided he’d better change his soggy underwear, which
he peeled off and tossed on a pile of dirty clothes. Something in the back of
his mind suggested he might’ve showered before putting on a fresh pair of
underwear but, oh well, too late now.

David looked around. All the evidence seemed to be taken
care of. And wonder of wonders, his room actually looked in good order.
Let
the old man bitch about
that, he thought. He turned on the black-and-white
television in his room and found the tail end of an
A-Team
rerun. With
that providing light to see by, David went back to his door and turned off his
room light, then cracked the door slowly. Hunter’s husky voice filled the
house, then two gunshots. He cocked his ear for his father’s tread, which
sometimes he could hear even on the carpet. David particularly appreciated the air
conditioner’s intake vent in the hallway. He could tell from the change in the
airflow when his father walked past. That was his two-second warning. Tonight,
of course, the A/C was off and the windows were open. “Let mother nature do
what she’s supposed to do,” his father said when it was cool like this. “Save
me a buck or two for a goddamned change.”

But the old man was nowhere to be heard. David retreated to his
bed to lie down, staring intently at the screen. His cover was secure. If his
father walked in now, there was nothing out of place.
On base!
he
thought to himself again.

He watched the jeeps fly through the air and the A-Team
shoot about 10,000 rounds of machine-gun fire at the bad guys without ever
hitting anyone. He always wondered how trained, elite soldiers could be such
bad shots. After the show ended, he got up to go to the bathroom and used that
as an excuse for reconnaissance on the old man. The television in the living room
was still blaring, slivers of light dancing on the ceiling and carpet. He
closed the door to the bathroom and took a leak. When he was finished, he
opened the door again slowly and cocked an ear. The ten o’clock overture had
begun with a man’s deep voice introducing the newscasters. His father must’ve
fallen asleep. Usually he grabbed a last beer from the fridge to finish off the
evening. Yep, he was asleep. David could hear his rumbling snores as the music
faded out and a woman started talking about the president and Congress. So it
was a “B”-night.
Good
, David thought.
Could’ve been worse
.