Will the Sun Ever Come Out Again? (12 page)

She heaved her bag over the side. There was a splash, followed by another as Jim did the same with his. By the dying moonlight, she watched the bag float on the water’s rippling surface for a moment. Then, they began to sink. A bubbling sound drifted upward as the black plastic disappeared beneath the water. Soon, the lake was still again, and they were alone in the quiet.

“That’s that, I guess,” she said. She turned to Jim, and she saw a strange look on his face. “What is it?”

“Can I trust you?” he asked.

“What?”

“No one can ever know what we just did. You know that, right? I need to know I can trust you to keep it a secret.”

“Jim, you know I can.”

“Do I?”

His hands wrapped around the oar’s wooden handle, and Rose thought she saw his knuckles whiten with the effort. She thought about the knife that now rested in her lap. How fast could she grab it?

“Jim, come on. How long have I worked with you? I could have left at any point this year, once business started going downhill. Did I do that? Nope. I believed in you. So, believe in me. You’re not the only one who would get in trouble if this got out. Think about it.”

Rose watched as he did just that. For a moment that felt like hours, he watched her, and she could almost see him inch toward his decision. She shifted her hand closer to the knife’s handle, but then Jim let go of the oar and held up his hands. He shook his head, his expression apologetic and embarrassed.

“You’re right. Sorry. I just...fucked up night, y’know?”

She sighed and then smiled. “Yeah. I know.”

“You want to head back?”

“More than ever.”

“All right, then.” He scooped up the oar and stabbed it into the water. Grunting with the effort, he turned around the canoe and got them moving toward the shore again.

They wound through the hills around Lake Travis until they found a secluded spot. Thomas piloted the bulky Lincoln down a road that was little more than two gravel ruts gouged in the ground. He drove in silence, his face grim. In his mind, he saw Doris Hubbert cry as she took the kitchen knife in her hand and dug it deep into first one forearm and then the other, opening herself up so she could bleed to death on the kitchen floor. He hadn’t looked at Jenkins then, and he hadn’t looked at him since. For all he cared, the old man could die or disappear or burst into flames and burn into nothing but ashes. Thinking about the perverse bastard left him feeling sick.

Finally, the Lincoln exited the woods, and Thomas saw the waters of Lake Travis lapping at the shore. The sun had set, but complete dark hadn’t arrived. It didn’t matter much. They had one last piece of business to attend to, and then they’d go their separate ways until the next mess needed fixing.

Thomas killed the lights and then the engine. For a long time, he sat perfectly still, hands on the wheel, looking out at the black water. He searched deep in his soul and wondered if he could keep doing this or if maybe he should take the route he’d convinced Doris Hubbert to take. Maybe that would be easier. Hell, maybe it was just the right thing to do.

“I had the same thoughts when I first started,” Jenkins said.

Thomas blinked. Slowly, he turned to look at the man. He was gazing out the window as he lit a cigarette.

“Can you…?”

“What?” Jenkins asked. “Can I read minds? Don’t need to when it’s written all over your face like that.”

Thomas rubbed his face with both hands. “I just don’t know if I can handle this.”

“I know. Nobody does. You have to, though. Simple as that.”

“What we did today—not what we did, but how we did it—it’s cruel.”

The old man inhaled and then blew a plume of blue smoke out his window. “It’s necessary. Don’t confuse the two.”

“We could have snapped their necks without saying a word.”

“Wouldn’t look convincing, not with four in the same day.”

“Guns, knives.”

“Sloppy. Room for error.” Abruptly, the old man shouldered open his door and climbed out before leaning his head into the car. “Come on. You need to see this.”

“See what?”

“Come on.”

Thomas climbed out of the Lincoln and followed Jenkins to the trunk. The soles of his shoes scraped over the rocky shore, the sound like ghosts moving through the canyon. When he reached the trunk, the old man wrenched it open. The chained bag waited inside, the thing inside beginning to move again.

With surprisingly nimble fingers, Jenkins untied the drawstring at the top of the canvas sack and opened it, pulled it down to reveal the face of the thing they’d been transporting all day.

The dying light somehow still reflected off the bone white face that looked just removed from humanity. From within deep, shadowed sockets, its eyes burned orange and red. Past its black and desiccated lips, Thomas saw the broken teeth and the fangs, the stone he’d shoved in its mouth to keep it from biting any more humans. The thing hissed past the obstruction in its mouth, and it was a sound of both hunger and hate.

“Look at it,” Jenkins said. “Take a good, hard look. Our job is to make sure things like this stay hidden. The world isn’t nearly ready for something like this. What we do, it isn’t pretty, but it’s necessary.

“We kill people because we have to, and over the years it will get shockingly easy. What we can do, we can do for a reason. The job gives us terrible powers so we can do terrible things. It makes us a little more than a regular person, though. The longer you do this job—and believe me, you’re stuck with it—the harder it’s going to be for you to feel like a human and not something like this. Or something like me.”

Jenkins reached out. Thomas flinched and then regained his composure as the old man’s dry palm pressed against his heart.

“Do what you can, Gregory Thomas. Hold onto this as long as possible. You’re in this job forever, but try to remember that it’s just a job. It’s not what you are. We get downtime between incidents. Use it wisely. Save puppies, for all I care. Just remember that when you’re on the clock, you’re on the clock.”

Thomas nodded. He thought he saw sadness in the old man’s eyes, but he couldn’t be sure. Silently, he watched as Jenkins drew the bag over the hissing beast’s head and pulled the string taught once again.

“All right,” the old man said. “Let’s sink this thing and go home.”

Ben stares at Gregory Thomas, who sits on the couch with his legs spread, wrists resting on his knees and hands hanging down. The old man looks like a big kid, a child who grew up before his time. Between them, a paper sack sits on the coffee table, a dark stain along the bottom.

“What do you mean I know what went wrong?” he asks the intruder.

“You’ve known for a while,” Gregory Thomas says.

“Apparently not.”

“You cry yourself to sleep a few times every week. You sit here and sulk. Every now and then you try to go out and prove you can function like this, but it doesn’t work out, does it? And you still talk to her. Every single day, you still talk to her.”

Ben feels himself sink into sad thoughts. He wants to protest, but he knows the man is right. Maybe he thought he’d be better alone, but now he has doubts. They creep into his thoughts every day, and he can’t chase them off no matter how hard he tries.

“What does that have to do with the bags?”

The man’s head cocks to one side and then rights itself. “Who did you call that first night? You wanted to make sure she was all right. Who did you tell everything to once you couldn’t keep it bundled up anymore? Like it or not, she’s a part of you, and you’re a part of her. And the two of you fit together very well. It’s not perfect, but it never is. No matter how much we want it to be, sometimes as good as it gets is, well…as good as it gets.”

Ben feels a little dizzy. He can’t quite believe everything. The bags, the man on his couch: it’s all too surreal, and it’s sent the entire world spinning.

“What’s in that bag?” he finally asks.

“In here?” The man picks up the bag and hefts it. “A few more teeth. A finger.”

“What? Where are you getting this stuff?”

He holds up a hand, telling him to take it easy. “It’s not one of hers, so what does it matter? She’s still waggling all ten. When the police run it, however, they won’t find any matches.”

Ben stares at the man. He stares and tries to make some kind of sense out of it all.

“Wait a second…why the bags at all? You could have sent a goddamn card or something!”

“I’ve been fixing things a long time. For the most part, it’s pretty gruesome work. Sometimes you get stuck in old habits. It affects these little…side projects.”

“Old habits?”

Gregory Thomas stands. Ben steps back, the reaction sudden and full of fright.

“Yes, old habits. Try not to get stuck in your own.”

Thomas reaches out and places a hand on his chest. Ben feels his heart thud against it, a bass drum.

“Do what you can, Ben. Hold onto this as long as possible. You fall into bad habits, you might never break free. Take it from an old man.”

He tries to think of a reply, a retort. Instead, he stands in stunned silence as the man shakes the bag a few times.

“I’ll just take this with me. I don’t think you need it.”

Gregory Thomas reaches the door and pauses, hand on the knob. “One thing….”

“Yeah?”

“No one ever finds out about this. I mean it. You even consider telling somebody, and you’ll either see me again or somebody who isn’t quite as nice. It won’t be a good meeting. Understand?”

“Um…sure. I understand.”

“Good.”

The man leaves, shutting the door behind him, and Ben continues to stand there. In his mind, he sees Melissa’s face. She smiles, and the tears rush to his eyes. He wipes at them with trembling fingers, and then he fishes his phone from his pocket and gives her a call.

Rose slept late. Exhaustion had woven itself through every inch of her body. When she opened her eyes, the sun was bright and streaming through her window, something she hadn’t seen in longer than she could remember. Panic rushed in, but then she remembered that Jim had told her to sleep in, that after their night and then a full shift, she deserved a day of sleep. He’d place the call to her sous chef personally.

She looked at the clock and saw it was just past ten. Screw it. She’d grab a few more hours. Not like she hadn’t earned them.

Sleep had almost taken hold again when somebody knocked on her door. At first, she tried to ignore it. If it wasn’t the mailman dropping off a package, it was probably Jim wanting to talk about what they’d done. She doubted she had the strength for such a discussion. Maybe in a few hours.

The knock came again, a little louder, but no more urgent. In that moment, it dawned on her that it might be the police. Panic fluttered in her chest as her eyes snapped open again. She sat up and leaped out of her bed. Looking down, she saw she was wearing a T-shirt and little else.

“Coming!” she called. As quickly as she could, she climbed into a pair of jeans. Looking out her window, she saw a few cars, but nothing that looked like a squad car or even a detective’s sedan. Her heart slowed, and her breath came a little easier. Probably the mailman, maybe Jim. She wouldn’t know until she checked.

She walked barefoot across the fake wood flooring of her living room. The early morning chill bit at her, but she didn’t mind. It wasn’t like she was still asleep.

The knock came a third time.

“Goddammit, I’m here.” She twisted the deadbolt and then the thumb lock on the doorknob. If it was the mailman, the delivery had better be spectacular.

A man who looked to be well into his seventies waited on the other side of her door. He wore an old, slightly wrinkled suit. When he gave her a pleasant smile, she thought she caught a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“Hello?”

“Good morning,” the man said. “My name is Gregory Thomas, and I’m with The Department of Health and Human Services. May I come in for a moment?”

DEEPer

WATERS

“You smell that?”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“You can’t smell it? It’s the morning, the sun hitting the world and waking everything up.”

“No, I don’t guess I smell it.”

“Figures. Something’s all around you, and you can’t even tell it’s there.”

“Maybe it’s the river, Charlie.”

“I know what the goddamn river smells like. This is something different. It’s something powerful, vital. It’s like sniffing life.”

“You say so. All I can breathe is that green fuckin’ water.”

Charlie Crawford--“Charlie Crawdad” to his friends and “that rotten asshole” to just about everybody else--leaned out the open floor-length window and looked at the flooded street below. The thick, oily river water was at least five feet high now, probably closer to seven or eight. He ran his fingers through his short black curls and shook his head, a smile spreading across his thin lips. When the Ohio spilled her banks, she did it fast and with gusto.

“I think she’s angry,” he said. He blinked a memory away before returning his attention to the man at his side.

Jimmy Mills shot a glance at the flooded street. “You mean the river?”

“I do.”

“What’s it got to be pissed off about?”

“Ain’t an ‘it,’ Jimmy. The Ohio’s a ‘she.’ Always has been. If you realized that, maybe you’d know why she’s pissed.”

“Because chicks are always pissed?”

“See? That’s why you’re single.”

“You’re single too, asshole.”

“Because I choose to be. Folks--especially women--have a habit of getting hurt when they get too close to me.”

“That so?”

“In my experience.”

“You sayin’ I’m gonna get hurt, Charlie?”

“Who knows? We ain’t that close.”

“You decided to hole up here and wait the flood out.”

“You’re paying me to make sure your place don’t go all Atlantis on ya. Not exactly the same thing.”

“Whatever.” Jimmy leaned out the window and spit a long stream of crud into the water below. “So why is she pissed then?”

Charlie’s smile looked like a block of ice. “Still haven’t figured it out?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“And keep you from learnin’ something? No way in hell. Now come on. Let’s go downstairs and have a look.”

A shadow of worry crossed Jimmy’s regularly handsome features. It almost matched the shadow cast by his River City Rollerderby cap. “You sure that’s--”

Charlie slapped him across the back, his smile stretching. “Shit yeah, it’s a good idea! We used grave ash, didn’t we? You and I both know there ain’t shit gonna bust through that.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Probably? I oughta feed you your own ass, you wave probably at me. C’mon, you frightened little bastard. Let’s go downstairs and have a look.”

Charlie tried not to laugh at the frightened expression Jimmy wore like an especially ugly mask. If the man wanted to piss himself, he didn’t need to be snickered at for it. But hell, if Jimmy was still scared even after he’d brought Charlie in to shore the place up, then getting his panties up in a bunch was the least of the man’s worries.

The thought did bring a chuckle to Charlie’s lips. If Jimmy had any idea...

The sound of water scraping against the storefront’s brick reached his ears seconds before his foot touched down on the kitchen’s linoleum floor. Jimmy’s Diner--The Spot--wasn’t much, but it was functional. The ovens hadn’t blown up on anybody, and the grill only burned the hamburgers half the time. Didn’t appear to affect Jimmy’s wallet at all. The Spot did a real crackerjack business, and Charlie seriously doubted any of Jimmy’s regulars would stay away if they saw the state of the cramped kitchen. As long as the food tasted good--which it did through some strange miracle--the fine folks of Sulfer, Indiana probably wouldn’t give a good goddamn.

“Floor looks dry,” Jimmy said, voice echoing with anxiety.

“Take her easy.” He shook his head. At this rate, the guy was gonna have a heart attack before the water pulled back into the river. That wouldn’t do anybody a lick of good.

“I’m just saying.”

“Well, just stop. What is it, Jimmy? You don’t trust me or something?”

“I trust you fine. It’s the damn river I’m not too keen on.”

“Pussy.” He shook his head, hiding the smirk plastered across his mug, and pushed through the door into the dining room.

A shimmering green shadow filled the small room, clinging to the four booths that lined either wall and draping over the old juke box pressed against the lunch counter. What light made it through the swollen river felt thick and oppressive, like an imitation of the Ohio herself. You could swim through the dining room just the same as you could swim through the polluted water, only one was nowhere near as dangerous as the other.

Charlie eyed the door, the floor beneath it. Not a drop of water had pushed through the entry. Good to know he still had the mojo working full bore.

“Good work,” Jimmy said.

“No thing.” He let a healthy amount of ego creep into his voice. Why not?

“Not sure I would’ve trusted anybody else in town to get it done.”

“Please. It’s an old trick, Jimmy, and just about everybody in Sulfer knows it. Not like I invented grave ash or some shit.”

“Nah, but you’re part of the river.”

That did drag a laugh out of him.

“What?” Jimmy asked. The word was all but lost beneath Charlie’s guffaws and the creaks and groans of water against brick and glass. “Seriously, Charlie. What?”

“Part of the river? What the hell you talking about?”

A twist of annoyance appeared in Jimmy’s eyes. “Don’t play dumb on me, man. Everybody knows. You were conceived in the Ohio. The river’s part of you, and you’re part of it.”

“You’re half-right, Jimmy. My parents were in the Ohio when my daddy was balls-deep in my mama, and if that’s when I was conceived, then there mighta been some greasy river water up in there with me. Don’t make me anything other than a man who knows a few tricks, though. You’ve lived here all your life. You know everybody’s got at least one good trick in ‘em. Hell, man, you know a trick or two.”

Jimmy shook his head. “Not like you, though.”

Charlie’s smile showed his teeth, a dull yellow brought on by years of coffee and smokes. He slapped The Spot’s owner across the shoulder. “I wouldn’t be too sure, my friend. I think you got some surprises in store. Yup, think you got at least one good turn in ya.”

He fished a hand into his pocket, and it returned with a pack of Marlboro’s. He screwed one into his lips and lit it. He let the first puff hang in his lungs before blowing it back into Jimmy’s face.

“Probably shouldn’t be smoking that right now.”

“Probably not,” he said through grinning lips. “Might piss off the other customers.” He swung his arms wide, blew another plume of smoke through a shit-eating grin.

Jimmy watched, his face blank.

He shrugged and pinched the smoke out between two fingers. “How about a burger, Jimmy? I’m damn hungry after making you safe as houses.”

“Sure. I’ll get on it. Can’t do fries, though. Only used enough magic to keep the grill going.”

“I’m sure I’ll just weather through and somehow find the strength to survive.”

“Fine.”

“Tell me how much you love me, Charlie.”

“More than a little. Almost as much as a fifty-dollar lapdance.”

He smiled as Tammie punched his arm and called him a rotten prick. The girl had a way with words, and it always pulled a grin across his lips.

“You always gonna treat me so bad?” she asked through a pout.

He touched his fingers to her cheek. “I’ll make you a deal. If I ever start treating you bad, you just let me know and I’ll take it out of my own hide.”

Her smile was a candle along the darkness of the riverbank.

Charlie jerked awake, hating himself more than a little.

A sour grimace hung over Charlie’s face as he listened to the sizzling of ground beef on hot metal. Getting the grill to fire up when the town was under seven feet of water was about as close as Jimmy got to having a talent. Time would tell if the man held any further value. Charlie figured if anybody could wring it out of the man, it was him.

He turned up his nose and sniffed a few times. He caught the faintest whiff of seasoned meat, but he smelled something else underneath--something raw and sick. Bad shit in the air. Nothing new, really. Sulfer wasn’t exactly Disney World. Nasty things happened all the damn time in the four street by four street Indiana burg. Some would say it was their stock in trade. Some folks even believed it, too, but there was a word for those folks: fucking stupid. Anybody who bought a dollar of their own bullshit deserved to drown in a puddle of it, and Charlie Crawdad had seen just such an occurrence on at least four separate occasions.

Just one benefit to being a magician.

He turned to look over his shoulder. The water flowed slowly past the glass storefront. He watched clumps of plants and muck tumble along on the lazy, pulsing current. Probably wouldn’t be too long until some of the other river inhabitants made themselves known. Hell, there were already a few river cats swishing along, their whiskers trailing behind them.

Charlie wondered if Jimmy Mills had ever seen the fish’s big brothers. He couldn’t wait to see how the sad bastard would react. Probably piss himself without taking a breath.

“Here ya go.”

Charlie made a good show out of jumping like he’d received the shock of his life. He even let out a gasp and jerked one hand up to his chest. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious, but he had faith that Mills wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Jimmy said. He slid a mostly-clean plate containing a hamburger that was only burned around the edges across the counter. “Enjoy, Charlie.”

“You’re not eating?” He pinched a morsel of beef from the burger and popped it into his mouth, giving Jimmy a smile as he chewed.

“Not really hungry.”

“Still worried?”

“Nah.”

“Jimmy, don’t try to fuck with me.”

The cook shrugged. “Sure. I’m still a little freaked. Why not? The fuckin’ river’s almost ten feet high!”

Charlie gave the storefront another glance. A discarded shoe drifted past the glass.

“More like eight, I think.”

“Well, what the fuck ever! You ever seen something like this before?”

“Sure. I’m part of the river, remember?”

“So you’re fucking with me now?”

“C’mon! I like to think you know me a little better than that. Fuckin’ with you? That ain’t gonna happen, Jimmy. Not when you’re paying me to be here.”

Mills appeared to calm down at the remark. He nodded slowly, his eyes hovering somewhere in the vicinity of the burger and fries.

“That mean you’re trusting me again?”

“I guess so,” Jimmy answered. “Not like I got a choice, right? We’re stuck together for at least a few more days.”

Charlie spun on his barstool until he was facing the tall glass storefront. He leaned back, resting his elbows on the lunch counter.

“Got that shit right, Jimmy. Nobody here but us.” He felt the man stiffen behind him. Weird. He knew Mills was worried, but it almost felt like the guy was scared. He fought the urge to shrug. Let the man stew a bit. It was more than a little funny.

“Think I’m gonna head upstairs,” Jimmy said. “Creeping me out down here.”

“You still think the water’s gonna get through?”

“I don’t. I’m just . . . Shit, I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t like lookin’ at the fucking river. That okay with you?”

“Sure thing, Jimmy. I’ll just finish my burger. Might curl up in a booth and have myself a nap afterward. That okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

He tore a bite off of the burger and chewed. Not bad. Not as dry as sawdust and tastier than your average lump of charcoal. Jimmy had really outdone himself.

He motioned at his throat with one hand. Mills read the gesture well, and a second later Charlie had a room temperature Coke sitting in front of him. He pulled a swig off the bottle and washed down the burger. He took another sip before speaking.

“Don’t know. Maybe you need me to hold your hand some more?”

“You’re a real asshole, Charlie. Know that?”

“Ever since my mama told me. Thanks for verifying it, though. Means a lot.”

“Whatever.” Jimmy left the dining room, grumbling under his breath. Nothing terribly original.

Charlie waited until he heard Mills’s clunky footsteps on the stairs before stuffing another bite of hamburger into his mouth. Yeah, a nap would be good right about now. He didn’t like that he’d dozed off. It wasn’t a good sign. Maybe an hour of good sleep would keep him up, alert.

Hell, maybe his dreams would take a better turn.