Bad Men Will Come, page 3
Momo sighed. “I reckon so. We’ll find them a nice spot to lay out in The Trees. Give ’em a proper sendoff.”
“Even Jumbo?”
“Even Jumbo, the dummy.”
Verbals was still on his haunches, gazing fixedly upon Maid Marion. “Think of all the things she’s seen and done.” With the backs of his fingers, he gently brushed her swollen cheek. “Who would do such a thing?” he muttered.
“Well.” Momo walked over to the window the voyeur had peered through and looked to the bare curtain rod above. “Give me a boost, will ya Buddy, and we’ll just find out.”
Buddy The Face came over and squatted and cupped his hands. Momo stepped into them and Buddy hoisted him up. Momo braced against the wall and unscrewed the finial on the end of the rod. He hopped down and examined the hidden camera inside the finial, pleased to see it was still recording.
CHAPTER THREE
The Cuckoo Kid
In the truck Ephraim told Caleb to strap his seat belt on, which got them off on the wrong foot from the jump.
“Like I don’t know to buckle my seat belt,” Caleb snapped. “Like I’m stupid and gonna forget to do it. That of all things is something you never need to remind me to do.”
“How come you ain’t done it then?”
“Can you just shut up?”
Ephraim reached over and grabbed Caleb’s shirt by the collar, balled it in his fist. “Don’t talk to me like that, son.”
“Let go of me.” Caleb’s eyes got wide and his neck jutted forward to where the veins were popping out and his face started shaking. “Let go of me,” he screamed. “Let go of me or I’ll jump out of this car.”
Ephraim released his shirt. “Buckle, now.”
“Fine. Don’t talk to me for the rest of the day.”
“Gladly.”
“I said don’t talk to me.”
Ephraim gripped the wheel tightly and didn’t respond. For his part, Caleb made a frustrated noise that split the difference between a sob and a snarl, but then he acquiesced, pulled the belt across and clicked it in. The two of them stayed silent the rest of the drive to the diner. It was on the edge of town, just off Interstate 64. The bell on the door jingled when they entered. Lucia, the waitress, looked up from the table she was serving and gave them a beaming smile and the place’s customary “Welcome to Harold’s” greeting.
They sat in their usual booth by the window. Ephraim looked out at the cars and trucks rumbling by on the two-lane highway and at the hills beyond where the colors were changing in the leaves of the trees. Caleb stared dead-eyed at the menu, even though he ordered the same food every time they came there. Ephraim broke the wordless standoff.
“Listen, you’re not in trouble—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Let me finish.”
Caleb raised his voice. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine, you don’t have to talk about nothing, but you’re gonna damn well listen.”
“Why would I ever listen to you? You don’t know anything.”
“You’re making it real hard to be nice to you right now.”
“You be nice and I’ll be nice. You’re the one being rude.”
Ephraim gnashed his teeth together to keep from screaming, and balled his fists beneath the table to keep from reaching across the booth and grabbing his kid’s head and shaking it until something like common sense magically appeared in there, till Caleb could be reasoned with like a normal human being. If, in fact, he would ever be normal again. Could ever be reasoned with.
Ephraim waited a full minute for the tension in his body to relax, for him to no longer feel like punching a wall. He spoke to his son in a calm and deliberate manner. “Please, Caleb. It’s important. I just need to talk to you for two minutes about school. Then we can be done. We can talk about anything else, or we can sit here like two doorknobs and not talk to each other for the rest of the day, okay?”
“I don’t want to talk to you for the rest of my life.”
“Fine, we don’t have to talk for the rest of our lives.”
Caleb warned him. “If you say one word about school, I swear to God I’ll scream.”
“Caleb—”
“I’ll scream.” Caleb bobbled his head back and forth maniacally. “Do you want me to scream? Cuz it’ll be your fault for making me do it.”
Ephraim leaned forward. “You scream, son, and I’ll drag you out of here by the scruff of your neck in front of all these people. I don’t give a shit. You wanna try me? Try me.”
There weren’t but six other patrons in the diner, but the idea of being embarrassed in front of strangers was still enough to quell Caleb for the time being. “Fine. You have one minute. That’s all you get.”
“I’m sorry—”
“You are sorry.”
“I’m trying to apologize here. Can you let me do that at least? I’m sorry I cursed at you.”
“Why? It’s not the first time.”
“No, it’s not. But we shouldn’t speak like that to anyone, especially the people we love, and I’m sorry.”
“I don’t love you.”
“Well, you don’t have to if you don’t want. I still love you.”
“You’ve got like thirty seconds left.”
Keep cool, Ephraim told himself. Don’t let the goddamned kid bait you into murdering him in a diner. He worked to keep his tone as flat and neutral as possible. “I know you heard everything your teacher said to me in that classroom, so you know how serious this has gotten. She’s not playing, Caleb. I know you’re having a hard time right now. I get that.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I get it as much as I can, okay? Look here, if you don’t keep it together, they’re gonna pull you out of Mrs. Dinwiddle’s and put you in a special class—”
“What kind of special class?”
“I don’t know, but generally, any class with the word special attached to it ain’t great. They’re gonna put you in something like that, or they’re gonna get you an aide to go around everywhere with you looking over your shoulder. Or they may just kick you out and make us do homeschool. Then I’d have to hire a teacher to come to the house. And I’m telling you right now, I can’t afford to hire no teacher. So I don’t care what you have to do. Please, I’m begging you, please, just try to keep it together for the six hours you’re in school every day. Just white-knuckle it if you have to. Do your work as best you can. After that, you can come home and do whatever. Go out in the woods and scream or punch a tree or do whatever you need to do. Just please, I’m asking you to try your best to keep it together from 8:30 a.m. until 3:20.”
“I already do that,” Caleb protested. “Do you think I want to act this way? Do you think I want to be the cuckoo kid?”
“No. Who would?”
“Exactly. That’s what I’m telling you. I can’t help it. It just happens.”
“So you’ll try?”
“Time’s up.”
“Just tell me you’ll try.”
“Whatever, I’ll try. Time’s up.”
“Okay.” Ephraim raised his palms in surrender and leaned back in his seat. “Let’s have a good meal, okay? Here comes Lucia.”
The cherry-cheeked waitress approached their booth with her pencil poised over her notepad. The diner’s female employees were made to wear old-timey uniforms that consisted of a short-sleeved white blouse and a brown and yellow striped apron/skirt combo. They also wore cheap paper hats with the Harold’s logo on it. Lucia wore her hair with a twisted braid up front, while the rest was pulled back into a mess of curls that kept the thin cap perched just so atop her head.
“Well, I’ll be,” Lucia exclaimed, smiling brightly. “If it ain’t the most handsome young man in all of Cain City come right here to my booth just to make my day.”
When Caleb didn’t respond, Ephraim said, “I don’t think she’s talking to me, pal.”
“I know,” Caleb said. “You’re not young or handsome.”
“Hey, thirty-two ain’t that long in the tooth. Some might even say I’m in the middle of my prime. Can you back me up on that please, Lucia?”
Lucia guffawed. “Um, no. I want to know who this some is, and what are you paying them?”
“Okay, so you two are a team now. Noted.”
“How you doing today, Caleb?” Lucia asked.
“Fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Good.”
“You have a good day at school?”
“Yeah.”
“What can we get for you today? Denver omelet?”
Caleb shook his head sternly.
“Biscuits and gravy?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Corned beef and hash?”
“No. You know what I get.”
“I do?” Lucia tapped the pencil against her chin thoughtfully. Then she feigned as though it came to her all at once. “Patty melt, no onions, double order of hash browns covered in cheese. Oh, and extra pickles.”
“No!” Caleb giggled. “No pickles.”
“Are you remembering right? I’m sure you always get lots of pickles.”
“Pickles are gross.”
Lucia pretended to scribble on her pad. “Jarfuls of pickles.”
“Yuck.”
“Okay then, if you insist, I’ll hold the pickles. Your loss. Apple juice?”
“Apple juice.”
“What about you, old-timer, same thing?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Ephraim said, “but aren’t you older than me by a year or three?”
“You wanna eat, you better hush your mouth.”
Ephraim ordered his usual and passed her the menu. Lucia handed Caleb a package of crayons from a pocket in her apron so that he could draw on the paper mat, then went to put in the order with Harold, the proprietor and cook. Ephraim watched her go. He didn’t want Caleb to catch him gawking at Lucia like a creeper, but she had about seven handfuls of ass that bounced like a drumbeat with every step, and he couldn’t help himself. In fact, most of his time in the diner was spent resisting the urge to stare at her. But the more he tried to fight it, the more compelled he felt to steal one glance, then two, three—of her hooded brown eyes, the full curve of her lips, the dimple in her chin, the freckles dotting her cheeks, the smooth hue of her butterscotch skin, the thick contours of her legs, bare from the hemline of the apron on down. The sense memories these images conjured were intoxicants of smells and tastes and touch that wended beyond language.
The woman was plump in all the right places and, some might say, a few of the wrong ones. But Ephraim wasn’t to be counted among those people. For him, looking at Lucia was comparable to gazing into a bright light; upon closing your eyes, its image scorched into the back of your eyelids like an incandescent photo negative. Ephraim didn’t know if it was Lucia that made the world plain, or if it was the plain world that accentuated her brilliance. The answer didn’t matter. Either way, she had occupied a space in his mind and his body that had long been vacant. He couldn’t believe his luck, if he was being honest. She was above his station. Above most anybody’s station. Yet some man had decided to cheat on her, and here she was, Ephraim thought, this enchanted being working in a shitty highway diner in Cain City of all places, disguised as a waitress.
Lucia slid their order across the window and crossed the restaurant to wait on another table that’d just come in. Ephraim told Caleb he’d be right back and got up like he was going to the bathroom.
He timed it to where he walked behind her just as she was wrapping up the drink orders and telling the table to take their time figuring out what they wanted to eat. He gently squeezed her elbow and nudged her toward the corridor that led to the bathrooms.
“Can I speak with you for a second?” he whispered.
Under her breath she protested, “Ephraim, I’m working,” but she allowed herself to be guided into the shadows of the corridor where none of the patrons could see them. She stood with her back pressed against the cold tiles. He put his hand against the wall by her head and leaned in toward her.
“How come you ain’t been returning my calls?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“Because I’m not gonna be that kind of girl.”
“What kind of girl?”
“You know what kind of girl.”
“How long you gonna make me do this dog and pony show?” he asked.
She cocked an eyebrow as if to say Long as I want. Then she peered over his arm-bar to make sure no one was watching them. “I gotta get back to work. Harold catches me back here talking to you again he’ll have a conniption.”
“Answer me, then.”
“Let me go.” She whacked his arm with her notepad. “You trying to get me fired?”
“How they gonna fire you? You told me yourself Harold’s been trying to find a new waitress for a month, cain’t find nobody worth a damn.”
“What a way to gain job security.” Lucia looked at Ephraim, shook her head, and huffed. “Look, you wanna string somebody along, why don’t you throw some of that two-dollar charm at one of those women work out there with you? I’m sure they’d be happy to oblige.”
Ephraim cracked a grin. “You know them women out there’re rougher than cobs. Gives me the willies just thinking about it. ’Sides”—he hooked a finger inside her apron and tugged her close—“you’re the only woman I want.”
“It don’t take a rocket scientist to know what you want. You ain’t got no game.”
“You just told me I had two bucks’ worth.”
“Pshh. In change, maybe.”
Ephraim leaned in for a kiss, but Lucia turned her head. The poof of her ponytail smacked his face and he caught a whiff of whatever product she put in there to make it shiny. A sharp, chemical smell with an overlay of vanilla. He tried to veil the irritation rising within him.
“What do you think I come in here five times a week for? Harold’s five-star cooking?”
“’Cause Caleb loves eating here. That’s what you told me.”
“I know, but—that’s not— Jesus, this is not my day.” Ephraim filled his cheeks with air and blew out a sigh of discontent. “You had a good time the other night, right?”
Lucia’s face ruckled. “What good time?” She moved to duck under his arm, but he blocked her and she stood back up, eyelids fluttering with anger. “Will you let me go, please? My table needs sodas.”
“They can wait.”
“They’ve been waiting.”
“Do me a favor?”
“A favor? Look at this boy asking for a favor. I can’t wait to hear this. Go on.”
“Come out to the plant again tonight,” said Ephraim.
“Was it a figment of my imagination, or did we just have a whole conversation about how that’s not gonna happen?”
“I can’t stop thinking about you. I need to see you before this weekend. I crave you.”
Lucia put her fist to her mouth to stifle a laugh. “You crave me?”
“I’m obsessed with you.”
“Oh, you’re doublin’ down?”
Ephraim tilted his head down, brushed his lips against hers. She allowed it, and let him linger for a moment before placing her hands solidly on his chest and pushing him back to arm’s length and holding him there.
“Come out tonight,” Ephraim said. “Please.”
“I’m supposed to watch my nephew.”
Ephraim inched toward her. “Get out of it.”
Lucia tsked. “Like it’s that easy.”
He moved to kiss her again. This time she didn’t turn away. He pecked her lips gently, hesitantly, and when she didn’t resist he sank his tongue into her mouth. She tasted like the peppermints they gave away at the register, the ones that went chalky on your tongue. Pulling back, he said, “Say you’ll come.”
“Maybe.”
He reached down to the hemline of her skirt and ran the backs of his fingers along the inside of her thigh, where there was a mist of sweat from where she’d been on her feet all day, moving, working.
“Come. Please … Please …” Between the pleases, Ephraim peppered her with kisses on the nape of her neck, on her freckles, her earlobe, beneath her jaw. “Please.”
Lucia palmed his face and shoved it away. “I said maybe.”
“Full of maybes. I’ll take it.”
“I don’t see as you having much choice in the matter.”
“Hey, can you do me one more favor?”
“Good lord.”
“Will you wear your uniform when you come?”
From around the corner Harold bellowed for all the diner to hear, “Luciaaa! Order’s up.”
“Ope, gotta go.” She pushed Ephraim’s arm aside and stepped out from him.
He grabbed her wrist to stop her leaving. “One last thing.”
“Let go of me. What?”
“It’s Caleb’s birthday. Can you bring him a piece of pie or something after dinner, maybe throw a candle on there?”
“His birthday? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He’s been having a rough go. I didn’t know if he’d even want to celebrate it.”
“Jesus.” Lucia smacked her lips. “Of course he would. He’s a kid. I’ll bring him something. What kind of pie’s he like?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Kentucky Tilt
The patty melt and hash browns in his stomach put some life back in Caleb’s eyes and infused some color into his cheeks. Ephraim sopped the last bite of his pancakes in some syrup and forked it into his mouth.
“Feel better?” Ephraim asked. This meal had become the last thing Caleb could be counted on to eat. The other staples of his diet—peanut butter sandwiches, pancakes, spaghetti, macaroni and cheese—he’d dropped them all, one after the other, refused to touch them ever again.
