THE LAST BOY (30 page)

Tripoli paced the corridors of the courthouse, then returned to his bench, picked up the paper, and thumbed desultorily through it. There was a picture of a farmer in northern China shoveling drifting sand away from the door of his house. A broad band of new desert
was sweeping across a wide swath of once fertile land. The farmer, Tse Rangji, was quoted as saying,“The pastures here used to be green and rich.” Millions of herders and farmers who had no other place to go were now stranded. Tripoli turned the page and found an article about dry lightning sparking hundreds of wildfires across the drought-stricken southern and western states of the U. S. On another page was an account of a new malarial type of disease discovered last summer in North Carolina. New cases were now springing up as far north as Pennsylvania. He thought about standing in the woods with Herb Jensen the forester and being bitten by those black flies.

It seemed that everywhere he turned there was a story about the world going to pieces. You had to be leery about the air you breathed and the water you drank; there were alarms about the need to wear bug repellent and sunscreen, and to minimize the use of your car to save gasoline almost to the point of giving it up and walking. Christ, thought Tripoli, if you did all that how could you find time just to live?

Finally, close to the end of the day, a clerk emerged from the courtroom to inform him that there wouldn’t be time for Tripoli's testimony. They’d call him back tomorrow or the next day. He should please make himself available.

Tripoli trudged back to his office, worked on a couple of reports, and then headed over to Molly's. Cutting his way across the intersecting roads of the trailer park, Tripoli's eyes swept over the familiar homes of sheet metal now looking softer in the evening light. Given the warm weather, the place was abuzz with people: little children with dirty faces, a trio of stoned-looking teens, young mothers, gaunt or obese but most looking old before their time.

He caught a glimpse of Chris Moody getting out of his truck and heading into a new double-wide. Moody, his powerful arms solid blue and red with tattoos, had just been released from Auburn and was out on probation after breaking into ATM machines. He
was driving a brand new Chevy pickup. King cab. Four wheel drive. Not bad for an ex-con. I’ve got to get Molly out of here, he thought, as he reached the rear of the park and her old trailer came into view. Danny was out in front wrestling with a big spade. As soon as he spotted Tripoli's car, he dropped the shovel and ran up to the open window.

“Hi, Trip!” he shouted. Tripoli could feel his dour mood dissolving.

“What are you up to?” he asked, getting out and stretching his legs.

“Oh, I’m just trying to get the earth ready for my garden.” Danny led him to the trailer and a patch of ground that looked more like a broken-up macadam road than soil. Danny picked up his shovel and went back to digging. But the earth was impenetrable to his efforts and when he managed to turn over a small scoop, it was nothing but subsoil and rubbery clay. Tripoli could hardly bear to watch him struggle with the hardpan.

“This is not exactly the ideal spot to plant stuff,” said Tripoli.

“I know, but my mother says I can’t do it any farther away than this.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of Molly.

“Hi, Trip,” she called through the open window.“Are you going to stick around for a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

“I just wanted to go…well, I’ll be right with you.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry. I’m here. Take your time.”

“See what I mean,” said Danny, leaning on the spade.

“Well, Daniel, you’ve got to understand…” Tripoli's use of the name caused the boy to brighten perceptibly. “Your mother's worried. You can’t blame her, now can you?”

“No. I suppose not,” he allowed, jutting out his lip and returning to his digging.

Tripoli leaned against the side of the trailer and continued
watching. With every grunt, Danny was penetrating at most an inch or two into the unyielding earth. Then the boy got down on his knees and started breaking up the lumps with his hands. When he bent over, Tripoli noticed the small birthmark on the back of his neck that had been hidden by his hair. It was just as Molly had described it, like a star with six points.

“Here,”Tripoli said finally, reaching for the shovel.“Let me give you a hand. You’ve got to go deep so the roots will have moisture.”

Tripoli used his full weight, jumping on the edge of the spade. It was ridiculous: the stuff was like concrete, but he kept at it while Danny watched.“My Dad used to have a big garden. You know, what you really need in here is some organic matter,” he explained, stopping to rest. Perspiration was running down his face and he was already winded. Boy was he out of shape! “You ought to mix in some leaves. Or I’ll get you some peat moss.”

“That would be great!” Danny jumped on the offer.“You mean it? You promise?” he asked.

“Hey, it's a promise.”

“Then I could
really
grow stuff.”

“And I’ll get you some seeds, too.”

“Good! But lots of them.”

The kid was so elated that Tripoli kept working, though it seemed hopeless. He finished opening up a big section that curved around the trailer, then handed the shovel back to Danny.“Now all you need to do is break up these lumps. Try to get the earth fine and smooth.”

Danny went right to work, his small hands gripping the long shaft of the shovel.

“By the way, I want to apologize,” said Tripoli as Danny whacked away at the lumps.“I didn’t mean to push you like that— you know, that morning when we were driving up South Hill and I was forcing you—”

“I’m not mad at you, if that's what you think.”

“Well, I just wanted to be sure.”

“My mother says that you were just doing your job.”

“And what do you think?”

“I don’t think. I know.”

“Know what?”

Danny stopped, leaned on the shovel and stared at him. “You want to catch my friend,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

“Well, the old man's done something very wrong. You’re not allowed to keep children—”

“You’ll hurt him.”

“No, we won’t hurt him. I can promise you that.”

“You want to put him in jail.”

“That's not my decision. That would have to be decided in court. We have laws for that.”

“Those are just the laws of people.”

“Well. Yes. Sure,” answered Tripoli, caught off guard. “People make up the laws. They do it so that they can live together in society. Not hurt each other.”

“But there are other laws. More important ones.”

“Like?”

“Just others,” answered Danny evasively, leaning over to study the point of the shovel as he ground it into the earth.“And I’m not going to tell you about him anyway. So you shouldn’t ask anymore. And you should leave him alone!” He whacked the earth with the back of his shovel.“He's a nice man.” He turned to look back up at Tripoli,“And he was always, always,
always
nice to me.”

“Okay. I gotcha. I’m not going to push. But maybe, if one day you feel like—”

“Well, maybe,” answered Danny vaguely. He cleaved his spade into the earth, and then jumped on it's edge.

“Fine.” Tripoli raised his hands in surrender. “Case closed. Lips
sealed.” He pinched his lips and Danny, watching him through the corner of his eyes, softened and then laughed. “You know, if you really want to grow things, I’ve got a place in the country with good soil. It's deep and rich.”

Danny's eyes lit up. “
Really?
”

“Hey, Trip,” called Molly, leaning out the window,“you want to come in and talk to me for a change?”

“Not really,” he gave Danny a wink.“But, okay, I’ll come in for a minute.”

He went in and gave Molly a kiss.

“Ugh,” she said.“You’re all wet.”

“I was just going to help him for a minute, but he's a little slave driver.”

“You look tired. Rough day?”

“Ah, just tied up all day in bureaucratic bullshit,” he said. He kissed her long and hard, noticing as he did the way her eyes kept darting to the window.“Let me borrow your sink,” he said.

“Just as long as you return it,” she quipped.

He washed up in the bathroom and came back, his face bright, hair combed. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, broaching the subject slowly.“About Danny. And you. And living here.”

“What are you trying to say.”

“Look, I want you guys to move out to my place.”

“That's nice of you,” Molly said,“But…”

“But what?”

“There are a lot of buts.”

“Well, go on.”

“For one, do you think I want to sit out alone in the sticks isolated with this crazy guy out there in the woods somewhere.”

“You wouldn’t be alone.”

“Yeah? What happens when you’re working nights? And don’t tell me that you—”

“Well, some nights. But I’d try and work it out so—”

“Trip…” she said, taking his hands in hers.“You’re so sweet.”

“And we’re going to find this guy. It's just a matter of time.”

She didn’t respond.

“Obviously there's more,” he said, looking hurt.

“Okay. It's like getting married,” she said bluntly.

“And what's wrong with that?”

“I’m not ready to do that. Give up my life. My career.”

“Hey, no one is asking you to give up anything.”

“Oh yes you are. My independence.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I did that once.”

“Okay. And you got screwed. But I’m not Chuck.”

“No one said you are.”

Outside, Danny's shovel kept going.
Chop-chop-chop
.

This time there was no mistaking the sound. Danny was sitting bolt upright in bed, listening in the darkness, too. Someone was creeping around the back of the trailer.

The adrenaline was rushing into her system so fast that Molly could hardly breathe.“You stay put!” she ordered in a whisper.

She grabbed a mop handle and in a flash was out the door, weapon in hand. She shouted for the cop on duty in his car. All around the park, dogs started barking. She moved in a tight circle around her home. In the rear of her trailer, away from the overhead lights, it was nearly pitch black. Silently she waded through the deep grass, moving back and forth, poised to strike. At first she saw nothing and heard nothing except the yelping of the dogs. Then she heard a rustling and thought she saw something, a dark figure hunched over and scuffling through the bushes a few yards from the trailer.

Rushing towards the crouched figure she lifted the stick high
over her head. “You bastard!” she cried, bringing the mop handle down with all her might.

“Ugh!” cried the figure as it broke in two over his back.

Then she was on top of the man, blindly pummeling him with her fists in the dark, scratching and biting. Lights went on in the neighboring trailers, and the dogs were now frantic. A baby started crying, and a woman shouted out her window,“Shut up! I’m trying to sleep!”

“Stop! Stop!” the man was crying, struggling to his feet as she desperately clung to him, hearing his clothes rip as he broke free. “I’m a police officer!” he said, spinning around and taking tight hold of her wrists.

Then she looked straight into the face of Billy Van Ostrand.

“Oh, shit,” she muttered as he relaxed his grip. “I heard something and I thought you were—”

“I saw something, too,” he said rubbing the sore spot on his back.“I was trying to sneak up on it and then you…” He flipped on his flashlight and shone it around.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Molly was still shaking.“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It's okay,” he said, circling the trailer as she followed him. But clearly it wasn’t. In the light Molly could see that he had a pair of bloody scratches running down his cheek. His shirt, hanging loose out of his belt, had three long rents right down the front. “You’re just lucky I didn’t pop you one,” he said, waving his light.“Stay put,” he ordered when they got back to the front and Molly, spent, sunk down on the front stoop.

She remained huddled in her nightgown at the front door as the young cop made another quick circle around her place, then sprinted around the other trailers, a hand poised on his gun. He even checked the roofs. Then the surroundings, in an ever-widening loop.

Danny tried to come out.

“No way!” said Molly, holding the door fast.

“I just wanted to—” He called from the other side.

“You stay inside. And I mean it!” Her entire body was still trembling.

Then the cop was back, now down on his knees, poking his light through the chinks in the lattice skirting the foundation to her trailer.

“I don’t see anything,” he called out from his prone position.

She came closer and stood over him. “He was here. The old man.”

“Well,”Van Ostrand admitted.“I thought I saw something, too. That's why I came over.”

The cop went back to the rear of the trailer and Molly trailed behind him as he stooped down to examine the ground. By the bedroom window he noticed that the deep grass and weeds were trampled.

“Did you come through this way?” he asked, his light going to her.

She realized that, in her translucent night gown, she was essentially naked, but she was still too upset to care. She tried to remember.“I don’t know. I was moving fast. I came close to here, but…”

Later, when she got back into the trailer, Danny was sitting in the darkened living room waiting for her.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” she asked accusingly.“The old man. The Hermit.”

“I don’t know,” he said earnestly. Then, as she continued to stare at him, he added,“Really.”

“But you heard something, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he said with his faint lisp.“Something.”

“Hey, what's all this?” asked Molly as they stepped out the door the following morning, nearly tripping over two big bales of peat moss.
Sitting on top were packets of bean, pea, and squash seeds, herbs and flowers. There were trays filled with seedlings of tomatoes and broccoli and eggplant. Then she smiled.“Tripoli's work, huh?”

“Yup, he promised,” explained Danny as he lugged one of the bales towards his garden. “Oh, do we
really
have to go right to that office?” asked Danny, canting his head pleadingly. “I mean, couldn’t we just go a little teensy-wheensy bit later?”