The Summer I Died: A Thriller (6 page)

I rolled the dice; they came up seven, a lucky number
if ever there was one.

“
Okay,
”
I said.
“
But let’s go somewhere different. I didn’t like being so close to the road at that other spot. And besides, you and I still go there so maybe other people do too and I don’t want to shoot some fucking dude traipsing through the woods on his way to down some suds.
”

“
Fair enough.
”

Just then the phone rang. Tooth leapt up and grabbed it, said,
“
Starlet Productions, you swallow the cream, we give you the green. Oh, hi, Mrs. Huntington. Yeah, Roger’s right here.
”

I took the phone from Tooth, and waved him away.
“
Hi, Mom.
”

“
How much green we talking here?
”
she laughed

My mom was pretty cool, all things considered.
“
Only thing Tooth has that’s green are the skid marks in his panties. How’s Grandma?
”

“
Oh, great. She thinks she has Psittacosis.
”

“
Sounds bad.
”

“
It is, if you’re an owl. I don’t know where she gets this stuff from.
”

“
She’s not an owl, is she?
”

“
An old bird, yes, but there’s nothing wise in that addled brain.
”

“
Be nice. She gives me money for Christmas.
”

“
I’m glad I taught you not to be superficial.
”

“
I’m just kidding. I love the old bird.
”

“
Hey, you can’t call her that until you’ve lived with her for eighteen years.
”

“
Eighteen years with an owl?
”

“
Well, she can’t get her head all the way around yet but I doubt it’s for lack of trying. You and Jamie haven’t killed each other yet, have you?
”

“
Why, would that be bad?
”

“
It would if you got blood stains on my rug. Blood doesn’t come out without professional cleaning equipment.
”

“
I’ll lay down some tarp.
”

“
Good. But try to do it outside, if you could.
”

“
Agreed.
”

“
Is she up yet? I want to talk to her.
”

“
Yeah,
”
I replied,
“
I’ll get her.
”

“
And
,
Roger?
”

“
What,
M
om?
”

“
I love you. Sorry we had to take off so quickly after you got back.
”

“
No sweat. I’ll see you in a couple days.
”

I didn’t realize I didn’t say I love you back, and I don’t think she thought too hard on it
—
she knew I did
—
but I regret it now.

I put the phone down and hollered for Jamie to pick it up upstairs, then went to take a shower.

CHAPTER 6

We had to go to Tooth’s house, which was on the other side of town, to get the other gun. It was a small yellow house wi
th a couple of bedrooms, a wrap
around porch
held up by some
four-by-fours, and lots of
empty, forgotten
beer bottles
still standing where’d they’d been placed when finished
. The
crispy yellow front lawn looked like uncooked spaghetti, and a
basketball net stood tilted in the dirt driveway like a giant metronome
needle
that had stopped
slightly left of center
. The net had been ripped long ago but a few remnants of tattered rope hung from it and blew in the slight breeze.

Tooth’s father was sitting on the porch with a beer in his hand, reading a magazine about cars or airplanes or something. I couldn’t really tell because it was old and faded, like the kind you always see in patches of weeds by abandoned parks. He looked up when we pulled in and wiped the beer can across his forehead in an attempt to cool down.

“
Get the gun outta the back,
”
Tooth told me.
“
We gotta clean it before we put it away.
”

I grabbed the gun, which was in a black plastic carrying case, and followed Tooth up to the porch. He mumbled an apathetic hello to his father, and disappeared inside. Sometimes I didn’t know if they were really family or just roommates. I nodded to the ex-preacher, hoping
to pass by without any conversation, but luck was not on my side.

“
How you been, Roger?
”
he asked with the gait of a doped-up turtle.

“
I’ve been good, Mr. Elliott. How are you?
”

“
Well, can’t complain. Other’n the heat it’s been quiet. How you doing at school? Merv don’t tell me much about what he hears from you.
”

“
School is good,
”
I said, trying to end the conversation quickly. When he didn’t say any more, I figured that satisfied him so I headed for the door.

“
That’s good, got to stay in school
.
I told that to Merv, but he don’t listen. Says he through with that shit
. . .
his words exactly.
”

I stopped at this, hoping it was the last bit of afterbirth to come out of his ethanol-soaked mind, but he continued with words that almost made me pray for mercy.

“
I’ve been thinking, Roger.
”

Shit. In my book, listening to a drunk
get philosophical
is on par with rolling down a hill in a barrel full of nails. You get dizzy, your insides shriek with stabbing pain, and
you end up someplace lower than where you started. I stopped and resolved to excuse myself politely at the first possible opportunity.

He ran his hand through the few remaining hairs on his head.
“
I ever tell you about the time I saw Jesus in the gymnasium when I was at seminary?
”

Oh, Lord, only six hundred and four times.
“
Yeah
, actually you did. You saw him drinking from the water fountain.
”

“
Well, let me tell you again. I know you think I’m just a crazy drunk, but I got methods to my madness. He was getting a drink,
”
he continued, his eyes glazing over as he
looked into the past, voice slower than ice trying to melt in Siberia,
“
and when he bent over and turned on the water, it wasn’t water at all that come out, but wine. Took a long swig, He did, and then He turned to me and a tear fell from His eye and landed in the wine. When it struck, little blue bolts of lightning stitched themselves across the purple
liquid
and formed a cross.
”
He stopped and looked at me to make sure I was still listening, then went back to the past.
“
I put down my basketball and walked over to ask Him what it meant, but He turned and walked out of the room. I followed Him outside but when I got there, there wasn’t anybody in sight except a student I didn’t know. ‘You see anyone come out here?’ I asked. ‘No.’ I searched high and low and never found Him. By the time I got back the wine was water again, and no evidence of Him having been there remained. Until today, I didn’t know what He was trying to tell me.
”

That you’re insane
, I wanted to say. Instead, I just smiled and said,
“
I gotta help Too
—
I mean Merv.
”

He looked at me, eyes back from their holiday at the seminary, and took a sip of his beer.
“
Now wait, I’m getting to my point. I’ve been sitting out here all morning thinking on that, and I came up with a theory. What if every person has a purpose in life, but not one they can necessarily see or are even aware of. Like me for instance. Sure I drink, I don’t deny it. I got my problems
—
hell, we all got our problems
—
but suppose that’s my purpose, suppose my drinking causes a reaction somewhere else. And suppose that reaction is doing some good. Why else would He have drawn a cross in wine? See, Jesus was born to die on that cross, saved humanity by giving His life on it. That cross was His purpose for being. I think He was telling me my purpose in life was to drink
—
my cross, if you will, is to drink wine
.
.
.
or beer anyway.
”

He looked down at his beer can
, kind of chuckled
; this was fucking torture. I could feel time stopping, the hair growing on my legs.

He continued:
“
I mean, beer, wine, same thing really. I just wish I knew how it was helping.
”

If ever there was a man trying to justify his vices, Tooth’s dad was him. I don’t believe in God; I guess because my parents never made me go to church, but I do like to think there are things out there, out beyond space and time, that have a better understanding of life. Not in a religious way; I don’t think we should worship them, but it’s nice to think we’re not alone. And perhaps someday we’ll meet up with them, whatever they are, and learn from them. But I sure as shit didn’t think Jesus, even if He did exist, would make an appearance just to get a man drinking. First time I heard this story, I figured someone in their bathrobe must have stopped to get a drink from the fountain, saw that it was flowing with rust, and walked away. The blue cross? Who kn
ows
? Reflection from
overhead
lights most likely. I just figured the old man’s brain was pickled.

“
Could be, Mr. Elliott. But I gotta help Merv.
”

“
Help him with what?
”

Tooth’s father didn’t complain much about what Tooth did, but guns were something else. He might be a drunk, but he was still a good man.

“
We’re gonna grab some tools and go work on my mom’s car,
”
I lied.

He took another swig of his beer and looked out toward the road.
“
Want me to help?
”
he asked.
“
I’m good with cars.
”

Like the cavalry, Tooth popped his head out the door and said,
“
Roger, c’mon, before the Second Coming. We got shit to do.
”

I left Mr. El
l
iot on the porch with his beer and followed Tooth to his room. It was as messy as it had been the last time I was there. A mattress on the floor covered with a sleeping bag, a small television on an old footlocker with a Playstation beside it. The floor seemed to be made of used clothes so rank with stink they’d fused together like a giant quilt. Several beer bottles sat atop the furniture, reeking of week-old Budweiser. Not to mention it was so hot inside you could spit and it would evaporate before it hit the floor.

In the corner was
a dresser with every drawer pulled out
so that it looked like poorly-constructed steps.
Tooth slid
it out from the wall and pulled out another black case
like the one we’d just brought in
. He
opened it up. Inside, a black
9mm
lay like a sleeping adder. He took it out and handed it to me.

“
Feel how light it is.
”

I hefted it and aimed it at the wall. It was far lighter than the .44, maybe about two pounds tops, and smaller as well. It fit in my
hand like it had been built
only
for
me.

“
Make sure you check the chamber before you go pulling the trigger
,
”
he told me.
“
Never too sure when I’m drunk whether I clear it out or not. More than once I found a bullet in there.
”

I used both hands and cocked it like I’d seen in so many movies, sliding the chamber back and letting it snap forward again.