The Caterpillar King (5 page)

“Where are we headed?” I ask.

“I think I know the best place for it. Just
for now.”

Walk through the main room, towards the
hallway.

“Our bedroom? The thing’s already fallen
once today. A tumble off the bed would likely be the end of
him.”

“He’s not going on the bed.”

She comes to a dead stop. I realize we’re in
front of the bathroom.

“But…no. No,” I plead. “My art.”

“The bath’s the safest place for him.
Besides, it’s only for a minute. Till we figure out… how to
proceed.”

I give in like I always do. “Fine,” I say.
“Just for now.” Galla takes the child, plops him in the bathtub.
She closes the door behind her, like the boy is a plague you can
quarantine.

“What now?” she says. “What can we do?”

“Never heard of anything surviving before
eight years,” I say. “We should assume…”

“Not an option,” she says.

Feeling fairly confused by her response. “I
thought you didn’t even want it,” I say. “And now you’ve got a free
ticket out. You should be overjoyed.”

She ignores me. “You’re sure we can’t take
him back to the clinic?”

“Might as well let him live out his life
here,” I say. “Doesn’t seem to be much harm in that. The boy’s
barely started developing.”

“What if…” says Galla. Clearly, the wheels
turning are turning. “What if we tried to re-bag him?”

“How the hell would we go about that?” I
say. Can’t fathom how the woman comes up with such schemes.

“Think about it,” she says. “You can get
another bag from the clinic. Charm your way into it. You’re good at
that.”

“Oh, am I now?” I say. Must admit, flattery
is the kindest form of manipulation.

“It’ll be easy for you,” she says. “Don’t
give away the circumstances, obviously. Tell them you want to
double bag. People do that.”

“People with anxiety disorders,” I say. “But
yes, I suppose they do.”

“You get the bag, we hang Tate up tomorrow
at sunset.”

“You seem to be ignoring the fact that we
have absolutely
no idea
what we’re doing.”

“Couldn’t do much worse than the clinic,”
she says.

“Fair enough,” I say. “Wait…
what
did
you just call the thing?”

“Nothing,” she says, but a smile plays at
the corner of her lips. “The clinic,” she says. “For God’s sake,
go.”

***

Never repeat the same drive twice in a day.
Makes you feel like your life is a wretched film you’ve already
seen. Would’ve all been terribly boring if little “Tate’s” life
wasn’t at stake.

Sun setting by the time I arrive at the
clinic. Parking lot’s nearly empty. Either it’s a slow day for
births, or the clinic’s about to close. No matter. Stroll inside
quite calmly, run smack into the weasel nurse. Don’t they ever
change shifts?

“What’re
you
doing back here?” she
says.

“Lovely to see you as well. Just
curious-”

“Sorry, I’m not free for a coffee later.
I’ve already got a boyfriend.”

She strides away, haughty and proud. I
suppose misplaced confidence is better than no confidence at all.
Head to the front desk, and thank God, there’s a new male nurse. At
first glance, seems a bit of a dandy.

“Excuse me,” I say. Put on my best grave
voice. “Been having a minor problem with your product.”

“Yes?” says the man.

“The bag is absolutely dreadful. First day
back, and there’s a deep sag in the middle. Looks like it could
split at any moment. Shoddy construction, I’m inclined to
think.”

“Mr. Covington, is it?” he says, looking
down at some records. “I noticed you left your child here for a
week before pickup, which is highly inadvisable. And I can’t say
we’ve ever had much complaint before…” Can see he’s avoiding eye
contact. Trying to hide something.

“Perhaps that’s because you made better bags
before,” I say.

Dandy looks up at me, knows he’s caught.
“Yes, well…” He looks around, then leans in conspiratorially.

“Can this stay between us?”

I nod.

“We’re in the process of changing suppliers.
You received your bag within the last two weeks, correct?”

Another nod.

“Sorry to say it, but you got the dregs of
the last generation. We nearly worked them to death. Since then,
there have been quite a few…additions to the family, as it were.
With their help, we’re creating some brilliant products.”

“That’s all well and good,” I say, “But I
don’t see how it helps
me
. I need a bag that will support my
child for a decade. And I need it urgently.”

Dandy mulls it over.

“There
is
a new prototype. Supports
400 pounds…”

“400?! Sign me up.”

“But Mr. Covington, I must warn you,
there’ve been some inexplicable side effects in the lab tests.”

“I’m sure, I’m sure. Look,” I say. “This is
one of the most important days of my life. So if you
can
supply me with better support, then you have the obligation to do
it. Really, it’s not even about me. It’s about my poor child.”

I pause, let the words echo. Try to squeeze
out a tear, but no luck. Still, Dandy relents.

“Follow me,” he says. “I’ll show you what
we’re working on. If it’s up to your standards, you can have
it.”

He leads me down a series of identical
hallways. Quite certain they made this place into a maze so nothing
can escape. Wouldn’t be surprised if this was all an elaborate
trap. Imagine my death in forty different ways, all gruesome. Worst
of all is one where I simply forget how to breathe.

Follow the dandy at a steady rhythm, attempt
to match his pace. Chamber echoes as we get deeper, almost like a
heartbeat. Walls are concrete, but somehow the whole place smells
of sweat. Starting to get a bit spooked.

“Take customers down here often?” I ask.

“Only the ones that give us trouble,” he
says.

At the bottom of the stairs, surroundings
turn cave-like. Not liking this in the least. Trying to decide if I
could best the dandy in a fight. Pride says yes; reality says it’s
a coin flip.

“Here we are,” he says. Leads me towards a
light at the back of the cave. Suddenly notice a floor-to-ceiling
glass enclosure. Seems to be a large white tongue protruding from
the middle. To the side, there’re piles of white cloth. Dandy goes
up to the white tongue, strokes it.

“See this?” he says. “Newest and best
product. We keep them working down here because they prefer the
conditions. They can create up to fifty a day. Just like a
machine.”

Come up to the glass, put my hands against
it. Inside, dozens of caterpillars. They’ve lined up in a neat row
along the edge of the cloth. As they work their way backward, the
cloth grows. Never seen behind the scenes footage before. Quite
fascinating. And every single one of the caterpillars is snow
white.

“Gorgeous color on these,” he says, as if
he’s read my mind. “Rare breed, too. Boss favors them over the
rest.” He goes around to the finished pile and picks up a bag. Then
pulls a card out of his pocket. Hands them both to me.

“There’s your bag, and there’s the boss’
number. If you run into any other problems, feel free to give her a
ring. Have to warn you, she’s an absolute witch, though.”

I force a smile. “Always are, aren’t
they?”

Bag in hand, the deed is done. Head back up
the stairs. Hope the little boy’s still alive. Would be a shame to
have wasted a perfectly good day.

7.

Ned wasn’t much of a bleeder. He had a nice
round welt where his head had smacked the steel. It’d make a decent
souvenir. I picked up his limp body. He was heavy for a rat. No
matter. I slung him over my shoulder and went to the second door in
my workshop. The one that led to the cave.

The door was locked, but I made short work
of it. The hinges screeched as the door opened. A gust of warm, wet
wind flowed in. It smelled of sulfur and sweat, decay and
reproduction. It made me sick, but I went in just the same.

The cave was narrow. It got more constricted
as you went along, like the hollow under a staircase. It might’ve
been ten feet long. It looked like a big gaping mouth that closed
up at the throat. I’d never gone further than halfway. I had good
reason for that.

In the middle of the cave, there was a
raised platform of dirt. It was in the shape of a circle. Things
went into the circle one way and came back another. I dropped Ned
off right in the middle.

“Hey!” I screamed into the darkness. “I got
another one for you. Wrap him up nice and quick.”

I backed away from the circle. Then I went
into my workshop. I bolted the door. Better not to have anything
escape.

***

Dark Hollow Middle School was at the corner
of a dead dream and a dead end. They built the school for the best
of the middle class. People were looking to run away from the grime
of the city. The suburbs were clean and empty. This was their
escape.

Highways were supposed to connect every
county. Then the money dried up. People stopped buying houses.
Two-stories sat empty, with broken windows and bricks in their
living rooms. Highway construction went on indefinite suspension.
Dark Hollow was the last exit off a broken road.

I drove there in my old Chrysler. The car’s
never let me down and I don’t see why it’d start now. I was shaved
and sober and rested. I wore slacks and a suit. If you want
respect, you earn it with looks first, words second. I was dressed
for answers. I had business to attend to, and that business went by
the name of Amanti Jordan.

I didn’t know where to find Amanti, but by
Ned’s description, she’d be hard to miss. There aren’t many Amazons
around. I walked right up to the main office. It was a risk, but I
knew what I was doing. There was a little blonde secretary. She had
on too much makeup. Close up, she looked worn out and lonely. But I
could tell she had a good heart. I decided I’d better not break
it.

“Can I help you?” she said.

“I’m looking for an Amanti Jordan,” I
said.

“Oh no,” she said. Her face fell. “More
trouble?”

“It always is, isn’t it?”

“Let me check her schedule.”

The old maid clicked buttons until she felt
satisfied.

“Amanti is in gym right now,” she said.
“It’s down the hall, and through the double doors.”

I turned to walk away.

“Mister?” she said.

“Yeah?” I said.

“Go easy on her, please. She’s not all bad.
She’s had a hard life.”

I stared her down. “Who hasn’t?” I said.
When I left the office, the blonde looked a few years older.

I found the gym real easy. But it was empty.
The secretary didn’t seem the deceptive type. I considered other
possibilities. The gym was a big open court, with wooden bleachers
folded up on the sides. I walked further inside and found another
set of doors. Above them, it said, “Locker Rooms.” I went through
the doors. I wasn’t going in there to change.

Past the set of double doors, there was a
carpeted hallway. There was a girls’ locker room and a boys’ locker
room. I pushed my way into the girls’ room.

I was living every pervert’s dream. But I
wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it. On the way in, I walked
past a fully dressed brunette tart. She gave me a hard look, but
she didn’t say a word.

The locker room had ten rows of lockers.
They were tall and wide, and spaced a few feet apart. In the gaps,
there were benches for girls to sit on. They could do other things
on the benches, too. I made my way past row after row, looking for
Amanti. All I saw were dressed girls checking their hair in
mirrors. There was a bathroom, and a line five girls deep for each
stall. The false modesty of teenage girls. It always astounds
me.

I got to the gap between the last two rows
of lockers. There was a potential match. Her back was turned to me.
I studied her figure. The bottom half in bright green pants, the
top half uncovered except for a pink bra. Her caramel skin
glittered in the fluorescent light. There was a stamp on her lower
back. She put on a small white t-shirt that just barely covered
everything. What a shame.

She turned to see me standing there. Her
pink bra shone through the shirt like a stain.

“You lost?” she said.

I looked into her eyes. They were as hard as
coal. Her eyebrows had a severe arch. But there was a softness in
her cheeks and nose that kept everything in balance. I could see
what the Little Duck had been thinking.

“Sure,” I said. “Maybe you can help me. I’m
looking for a quiet place to talk.”

“We’re talking. Seems quiet enough,” she
said.

“Have it your way, Amanti.”

I sat on the bench and examined my
fingernails. They looked just fine, even sparkled in the right
light.

Amanti made a disgusted noise. “You with the
police, too?”

“What do you think?” I said.

“I don’t know,” she said. “A short, old
white dude with a Napoleon complex? Yeah, you must be a cop.”

“Funny,” I said. I spat on the floor.
“Everybody’s funny these days. Hell of a lot easier than being
honest.”

“What do you want with me? You here about
the disappearances? Because I already gave my statement.”

That got my attention.

“Yeah,” I said. “I am. And I’m going to need
another statement. One where you don’t leave anything out.”

“You think I lied to your boyfriend?”

“I think you’re trying to keep your nose
clean. Which isn’t a bad idea, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Why should I help you?” she said. She slung
her backpack over her shoulders. She acted like she was about to
leave. It was a good act. I stood up and met her. I only came up to
her chest, but I looked in her eyes. I knew how to get answers.
Even when I didn’t know the question.