The Boy Detective Fails (24 page)

Billy winces, his heart pounding, his ears ringing from the unfamiliar-sounding curse words.

“I needed someone to blame. I couldn’t figure it out any other way.”

“She just didn’t want to grow up, Billy. None of us did. Well, except you maybe.”

“Look, I brought you this,” Billy says, digging into his coat, pulling out the diary. Billy takes a seat on the edge of the small bed. “I thought we might like to look at it together.”

Fenton stares at the tiny gold book then holds it to his chest, his eyes twinkling.

“Is this hers?” he asks. “Wow, this is nice, man. I’ve missed you, Billy. I’ve missed you both so badly.”

The two men hold hands, then hug.

Billy closes his eyes, nearly crying. “I brought you something else,” he says, drawing away. Billy opens his briefcase and retrieves the finger-print set, then hands it to Fenton.

“I know she’d want you to have this.”

“The fingerprint set. That was hers, Billy. That was her thing.”

“I know. She stole it from me. I think she’d like it if you held onto it.”

“Look, there,” Fenton says. There is a big black fingerprint on the case which still looks wet with ink. “That was her fingerprint. I remember the day she did it.”

“I remember, too. I remember everything like it was yesterday.”

“Me, too, Billy. Me, too.”

The two young men are silent for a moment.

“Do you know I kissed her once?” Fenton asks.

“You did?”

“She kissed me, I guess. We were in junior high school. She said she just wanted to get her first kiss over with, so …”

“She never told me.”

“She made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone. That was one of her two conditions before she kissed me.”

“What was the other one?”

“That I would never try and kiss her again.”

“Did you?”

“Every day.” Fenton looks up, sad, his large eyes blinking with tears. “Why did you leave me alone like this?”

Billy looks down at his feet. The room is suddenly silent.

“Billy, why?”

“I guess it’s hard to see you without thinking of her.”

“It’s hard for me, too, Billy.”

“I know.” Billy folds his hands in lap, words winding hopelessly through his head.
What to say now?
He searches, then stutters, and finally asks, “So, how have you been, Fenton?”

“I’m not doing so good. I mean, I don’t do anything. I sit up here and read comic books. I had a job at the copy place for a while, but it didn’t work out. I had a line on a job in the city as a clerk, but I turned it down. I didn’t want to … I didn’t want to be around all those people, looking the way I do.”

Billy nods. “You probably should try to leave your house sometime. It’d be good for you to get out.”

“Yeah. I don’t know. It’s scary out there, Billy.”

“It’s probably scarier up here alone by yourself.”

“Yeah. So do you think we could, you know, I could visit you sometime?”

“I think you have to. I need to know there are people like you in the world still.”

“Yeah, well, thanks … for everything,” Fenton says, holding up the fingerprint set. “I mean, thanks for coming to see me.”

“It’s OK,” Billy stands, pulling himself to his feet. He pauses in the doorway, staring down at the gold diary. “Fenton?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to know. What … what happened to Caroline before she died? Why did she get so sad?”

Fenton nods, sadly. “She tried to solve some case all by herself. But I guess she couldn’t do it. She …
we
… weren’t as smart as you.”

“That’s not true.”

“No, it is, it is. It didn’t bother us, though. We didn’t want to be smart. We were just happy to be around you. But you left—you had to, Billy, you did, you did—but she couldn’t accept that. She couldn’t accept that it was over, you know: being kids. If you’re looking for a reason, that’s about as—”

“No, no, I know. I guess I was hoping there was some … some secret, perhaps. But thank you, Fenton, for everything. For looking out for her. For this. Thank you.”

Billy hugs Fenton once more and Fenton smiles, his cheeks reddening, hugging him back. “The only secret she ever told me was the one you already know.”

“Which secret was that?”

“Your secret word, ‘Abracadabra,’ the one about the dead dove. That’s the last thing she told me, that story, about you and her burying the bird under the porch.”

“Thank you, Fenton. We’ll see each other soon.”

Quietly, the boy detective leaves.

On the bus, the boy detective stares down at his hands, frowning. The small houses and trees of the town flash by like very old dreams.

EIGHTEEN

The boy detective and Penny stare at each other across the coffee shop booth. Billy’s eyes are small and tired-looking. Penny goes to touch his hand and he smiles, pained, staring far away. In a booth beside them, two loud women exchange gifts.

“It’s lovely, just lovely.”

“I thought you’d just love it. Well, happy birthday.”

There is a small, pink glass bird in the woman’s hand.

Penny eyes the gift with envy. She turns to Billy, who is lost in his thoughts, and frowns.

“Do you want to leave, Billy?”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m terrible company tonight. It’s my fault, it’s me. I keep, I keep thinking about terrible, terrible things.”

“Is it your sister?”

“Yes.”

“You miss her very much. It’s very nice to miss someone so badly.”

“Yes, but it’s … the way she left. I can’t make it make sense. I don’t think I’ll ever know why she did what she did. It’s this unsolvable mystery to me.”

“Maybe start small then.”

“Start small?”

“With mysteries you know you can solve.”

“Like what?”

“Like … like small, easy things. For instance, why does it rain sometimes?”

“Well, evaporated moisture builds up in the atmosphere and—”

“That’s very good. How about: Why is the sky blue?”

“It’s the sunlight and clouds reflecting off the surface of the water all over the world, which really—”

“OK, OK. Now something very difficult, a very hard question: Will you please come home with me?”

Billy looks up, sad, disbelieving.

The boy detective and Penny are running hand in hand. They stop outside Penny’s building, nervously staring at one another, catching their breath. Penny suddenly lunges forward and kisses Billy on the mouth. Startled, he kisses back, and they run up the steps, hand in hand once again.

In the hallway, outside her apartment, Billy and Penny kiss desperately as if they are both lost in outer space, somehow struggling to breathe. Penny stops and smiles, then says, “Please, wait. It’s been a very long time for me, since I … well … please, please … please don’t laugh at me.”

“I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t ever.”

“OK.”

They resume kissing as Penny unlocks and then opens the door.

Penny flips on the light. The room is completely crowded with hundreds and hundreds of pink shoes in shoe boxes, pink dresses on hangers, pink hats, pink jackets in bags—all stolen merchandise—thrown about madly. Penny pulls Billy down onto the couch, which is covered with pink shoes and clothing. Billy opens his eyes and looks around, shocked, but smiling.

“You, you stole all of this?”

“Please—you said you wouldn’t laugh.”

Penny and Billy resume kissing. Penny begins to undress, unbuttoning her blouse. Billy stops after a moment, holding her by the shoulder
.

“But
all
of this? You stole all of this?”

Penny sits up, upset, and covers herself.

“Please, you said you wouldn’t.”

“But why? Why do you do it?”

“Most of it is from strangers, women, on the bus or train. Some of it is from stores, too, I guess. I don’t do it to be mean. I can’t help myself.”

“But why? Why do it at all?”

“It started after my husband died. He was a Naval officer, you see. He was away for weeks, sometimes months at time. When he died, he was in another country. He was decapitated in an automobile accident, and another woman—some woman I never met—was in the passenger seat holding his hand when it happened. The woman, she also died. But, but he … he was with another woman, in his final seconds, seconds he should have been thinking of …” Penny looks away, her tiny face reddened with shame. “Those moments were taken, stolen from me. I don’t know why I started. Afterwards I began stealing shopping bags, purses, anything, from women I didn’t know, women who were total strangers to me.”

“I think I understand, maybe,” Billy says, wiping her tears with his hand.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

Billy and Penny kiss again. Penny pulls away, crying into her arm.

“I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry for you, too, Billy.”

Billy and Penny sit on the couch, side by side, staring out, straight ahead, holding hands, both on the verge of sobbing.

“We both need to start small,” Penny says. “Me, only stealing very tiny, inexpensive things. You, only solving very simple, uncomplicated mysteries.”

Billy nods. Penny kisses his cheek very tenderly. As she opens her hand, she reveals the small glass bird, stolen from the women at the adjoining table earlier that night. Billy sees it and begins smiling. They stare at each other for a long time.

When they kiss, they kiss slowly.

NINETEEN

The boy detective lifts his head from his desk and realizes he is two hours early for his shift. He also notices that he is mumbling on the phone to somebody. Larry peeks over from across the aisle and smiles.

“Yes, the Nordic Prince is one of our most popular styles,” Billy whispers into the phone.

“OK, kid, try this one. What did I do last night, after I left here?” Larry asks.

“It’s quality hair replacement without the surgery.”

“Go on, guess. What did I do?”

“I don’t know, Larry. I have no idea.”

“I’m a conundrum. You think you know me? It’s
impossible
to know me. I’m like a black hole. Scientific standards do not apply to me.”

Larry returns to his desk. Billy stares at him, nodding.

“OK,” Billy whispers to himself. “Start small. Start small.”

The boy detective watches Larry as the older man gets up, winks at him, and skips off to the bathroom. Billy stands, slowly following. As he walks inside, Larry is at the mirror, washing his face. The boy detective watches him for a moment, smiling. Larry stops and pulls out his flask, takes a drink, then offers some to Billy.

“Well, Billy, my boy, how about a little pick-me-up? I had this woman today who lost her arms and legs and still thought a wig was the right option, do you know what I mean? These poor, lonely hearts, they practically kill me. Thank God we’re here for them, eh, Billy?”

Billy waves off the drink. He walks over and points at Larry’s middle, thinking:
Larry’s shiny gold belt.

“Um, Larry?”

“What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering …”

“Yep?”

“Larry, are you right-handed or left-handed?”

“Right-handed or left-handed? Right-handed, of course. Look at me, I
wish
I was left-handed. I’ve been working in this madhouse for twelve years, trying to get used to all the left-handed nonsense: scissors, telephones, door knobs, staplers …”

Billy nods and points at Larry’s belt.

“I must say it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mammoth.”

Larry’s round face goes ghost-white.

“You got it wrong this time, kid. If I was only so lucky to be that rich bum …”

“It’s your belt, Mr. Mammoth. You put it on left-handed.”

The man’s round face goes red. “No,” he whispers.

“Yes.”

“Oh God, Oh Jesus—you got me, kid. Good grief, you really got me now, kid.”

Larry removes his hairpiece. Without the black toupee, it becomes obvious he is indeed Mr. Mammoth. Billy smiles widely as Mr. Mammoth happily shakes his hand.

“Twelve years of hiding out. Twelve long years … Well, the game is up, isn’t it? What are you, kid, a Fed? Insurance investigator? Detective from the Better Business Bureau?”

“No,” Billy replies. “I just sell hair.”

“You tell anyone yet? Let the Feds in on what you know?”

“No.”

“So blackmail is your game, kid. Very smart, very shrewd. Maybe we can come to some sort of deal.”

“But I don’t want anything. If you’re wanted by the law, it’s out of my hands, I think.”

“Well, at least let me explain my side, kid, before you go calling the cops on me. Maybe I can convince you to change your mind. Sure, sure, when you see the scope of it, maybe you’d like to get cut in on some of it.”

“I don’t think so.”

“OK, but let me tell you—it all started right before my likely incarceration for tax evasion, which the Feds had me on for sure. Right before they set the hook, I had the second biggest idea of my life. The first being, well, this,” he flops his hairpiece about. “Well, before I’m sure to get sent away, I got this brainstorm to record all my ideas and then fake my own death, which works out great. First I fire everybody. I get a new staff, who don’t know me, and I just sneak in at night, work the graveyard shift, record what I want done, and no one is the wiser.”

“So it’s you I’ve been hearing at night?”

“Yep. I sneak in and record a new tape and then disappear before anyone’s the wiser. Because now I’m just a lowly salesperson, without a care in the world. More than ten years of that, masquerading as a nobody—can you imagine?”

“I cannot.”

“But the real brainstorm was this: Sitting here night after night, talking on the telephone, talking to all these people, nobody buying anything, finally, I come to this conclusion—everybody is unhappy for the same reason. Somewhere in their scrawny little brains, they all know they’re already dead. They’re working some two-bit job, they’re married to someone who ended up a bigger disappointment than they could have ever dreamed, they owe bills they can’t pay—so I figure what these people need is a new start, a whole new beginning. That’s what we’re really selling here, Billy: a cheap version of hope. The hope for people to start over, you see? That wearing this stupid thing is going to give them the life they’ve always dreamed of. That’s what people need. They really need some reason to believe what’s going to happen next is going to be better than what they’ve already seen,” Mr. Mammoth whispers, shaking his hairpiece. “This is that reason. It’s quite a nest egg now, this business, believe me. If you’re inclined, perhaps, well, an arrangement of some kind can be made?”