Scratch, page 7
“Hey,” Adam answered. “Joel around?”
“In the back,” the teen said. “Hey Joel! Somebody to see you!”
A tall, thin man with a ponytail and a Fu-Manchu mustache stepped through the black curtain behind the counter. He was dressed in a cross between fifties greaser and Hell’s Angel, with a little seventies punk tossed in for highlights.
“Adam!” Joel came all the way into the store and grabbed Adam’s hand enthusiastically. “How the hell are you? Long time no see, man!”
“Joel,” Adam said. It felt good to be back.
“Oh my God,” Joel said, and peeked at Mike, who was hiding behind Adam’s leg. “This can’t be Michael, can it?”
“Mi-KAY-la,” Mike corrected, then a smile crossed her face and she became bolder, and stepped out. Joel picked her up.
“Howya doin’, sweetheart?” he asked. Michaela shrugged shyly, then reached for Adam. Joel passed her off. Adam knew that a lot of people, and Holly’s mom crossed his mind, would think he was crazy for bringing the child here. They would believe the atmosphere of the store, the underground lifestyle the place represented, would be a bad influence. Adam knew Joel was one of the gentlest, most genuinely caring people he was acquainted with. Joel had raised four well-adjusted kids of his own, and had helped dozens more to pay for college by giving them jobs. There were also the contributions he made to charity organizations and fund drives over the years. The book and its cover paradigm applied to Joel like it did to so many other people.
“So, you need boxes?” Joel said. “What… you moving?”
“Yeah.” Adam didn’t offer more. As far as Joel, a lifelong resident of the city, was concerned they were just changing apartments.
“Well, you’re lucky,” Joel said. “The back room is full of them. We got a bunch of new Swedish metal on Tuesday, and usually by now the boxes have been taken out to the recycling bin in the alley.
“But someone,” he said to the teen behind the counter, “forgot to do that, didn’t they, Randy?”
“Sure did, Joel,” Randy said, not looking up from his issue of Kerrang. Joel smiled and shook his head.
The door opened and another customer came in. Randy greeted him with a “Hey,” but received no response.
Billy began to browse the jazz section, and kept his sunglasses in place. He had never met Adam before, but it was safer not to take any chances. His eyes never left Michaela.
So this was his daughter.
* * * * *
“How many you need?” Joel asked.
“As many as you can spare, or that fit in my car, whichever comes first. Between my books and CD’s, and Holly’s art supplies and reference books, we ran out pretty quick.”
“That’s why I’ll never move,” Joel said. “Come on back, you can take your pick.”
Adam picked Mike up and plopped her fanny on a beat up barstool next to the counter. “You stay parked right there. I’m gonna be right behind that curtain. We’ll keep it open so you can see us, okay?”
“’Kay.” Mike danced Buggly across the counter top in front of Randy and jiggled the bear. “Hello. What’s your name?” she asked him in Buggly’s voice. Randy just looked at the toy.
“Nice beard,” Joel said as he lifted the curtain and tucked the loose end over the bar that held it. “That’s new.”
“Long winter,” Adam said as he stepped through the doorway. The backroom was dim and cluttered. Stacks of used CD’s and magazines littered the floor. Milk crates full of record albums congregated on every available counter space.
The boxes Adam wanted were broken down and leaned against the wall in the back. A shiver went up his spine as he was squeezing between two metal shelving units. An intuition of dread made him pause. A moment later, Michaela screamed.
“Hey!” Randy yelled from the front. “Whatta you… Hey, put her down, come back!”
Adam turned and ran out of the back room, knocking CD’s and records onto the floor. His shirt caught on a metal bolt and ripped. He bumped into Randy and knocked him into the counter as he flew towards the doorway.
Michaela’s face was etched with terror. Her arms stretched out, reaching for Adam over Billy’s shoulder as he bolted out the front door and up the steps to the sidewalk.
Adam saw Buggly lying on the floor, and stooped to grab it as he ran through the store. The soft fabric held the warmth of Michaela’s hand. He grabbed the door handle and ran out of the building, taking the steps two at a time. He turned his head to the left and saw Billy duck around the corner by the New Noodle House. People watched, but no one tried to help or interfere. Adam ran.
* * * * *
“It’s okay,” Billy said to Michaela as he ran. She screamed in his ear. “It’s okay, I’m your dad, just shut the fuck up!” He glanced back and saw Adam gaining on him.
“Fuck!”
Billy ran through the alley behind the CMU Science building and darted into traffic. Brakes squealed as a truck came to a shuddering stop. Billy hit the sidewalk then leaped over the hedge by Heinz Chapel in the Pitt Commons. He crossed the woodchip path through the park, scanning for a place to hide, or escape. Adam jumped the hedge, closing the distance.
Billy hadn’t planned this. He hadn’t followed Adam and Michaela. He had been on Craig Street purely by chance. But Pittsburgh, in spite of the tall buildings, was essentially a small town. Everyone was connected, and bumping into people you know was not an unlikely occurrence. He saw them going into the Cavern and followed. He just wanted to see her. But when Adam turned his back, something made Billy act.
Shit, shit, shit, he thought as he ran. He needed a better plan. His car was in the other direction. He hadn’t counted on a chase. He hadn’t planned on Adam being this close behind. He couldn’t let himself be caught, not with a pocket full of cocaine.
And the damn kid wouldn’t stop screaming.
* * * * *
Adam’s breathing grew hard. He was terribly out of shape, but adrenaline and fear kept him going.
And rage.
The anger he had felt toward Jones was nothing compared with this. That had been philosophical, theoretical, and impersonal in comparison. This was raw and screaming, a physical pain in his heart. This was every small fury he had ever felt, melded together and magnified. This was murder and madness given form in response to a tangible threat. This was the core of the Deep Woods of his dream, primal and frightening.
He would do anything to save his child. The demon of rage rose out of him, transforming into a protecting angel of vengeance.
He crossed Fifth Avenue right behind Billy, past the dinosaur at the corner of the Carnegie Library, and across the street in front of the Frick Museum. Billy raced over the bridge that spanned Panther Hollow then turned onto the service road that wound through the woods behind Phipps Conservatory.
* * * * *
This wasn’t going well, Billy knew. This was far too public. Too many people had seen them by now. He wasn’t going to get away clean. The road he was on was a dead end, and even if it wasn’t, Adam was going to catch him. Michaela’s weight and struggling slowed him down. There would be a better time. He would make plans.
Right now, he needed to escape.
He barely paused in his stride as he dropped her onto a patch of grass by the road. He made a sharp right and plunged through the trees and into the woods. There was an immediate sharp drop-off and Billy stumbled on the rocks that covered the ground. He fell forward down the hill, rolling through garbage and stones, bouncing off tree roots and bushes. His plunge came a halt against a slab of sidewalk concrete that had been dumped over the hill years before. He was scratched, and his clothes were torn. By morning there would be bruises showing through the abrasions.
Swearing, he stood and glanced up the hill. Adam was nowhere to be seen. Michaela had stopped screaming. Billy carefully descended the steep embankment, using trees for support, and escaped into Panther Hollow. It would be hours before he felt safe enough to return to his car.
* * * * *
Adam sat in the grass and clutched Michaela to his chest. He rocked her and whispered assurances into her ear. She held him tight, face buried against his neck. Buggly was crushed between them. They were both crying.
CHAPTER TEN
Michaela finally went to sleep. She curled on a blanket on the floor of the apartment, surrounded by boxes. Buggly slept next to her head. Her face was red and swollen from crying.
Adam had carried her back to the Record Cavern. Joel had called 911 and the police were already there. Adam told them what happened. He identified Billy Haught as the suspect, but since he had never actually met Billy before the police couldn’t take his word for it. They took descriptions from everyone who had been in the store and said they would look into it. Adam didn’t feel reassured.
Joel loaded the boxes into the Taurus. Michaela clung to Adam the whole time. She protested when it came time to be buckled into the car, but eventually complied. Adam tried to get her to sing with him, but his heart wasn’t really in it either.
Holly knew something was wrong the moment they walked in the door. Adam didn’t explain everything until Mike was asleep, and then he saw his anger reflected in Holly.
“That bastard!” Tears glittered at the corners of Holly’s eyes. “Why is he doing this? He never wanted her. Why would he try to take her now?”
“I don’t know.” Adam held Holly close, and felt her tremble, just like Mike had done. He stroked her curls, and thumbed a tear off her freckled cheek.
“I won’t let anything happen,” Adam said. “Not again. I fucked up. I turned my back on her for a minute. I thought she would be safe.”
“She should have been,” Holly said. “It’s not the first time she’s been there with you. She was always safe before. It could’ve happened to me at the art store, or when I was getting groceries. I could’ve been sniffing a cantaloupe and he could’ve grabbed her. It’s not your fault.”
“Still,” Adam said, “I should’ve been watching.”
“You saved her.”
“It shouldn’t have happened.”
“I’m glad we’re leaving,” Holly said. “He’ll never find us in Canaan. We’re out of here tonight. The movers are going to be here any minute. I’ll call Mom and tell her we’re coming down this evening instead of tomorrow like we planned.”
“I wasn’t looking forward to sleeping on the floor, anyway.”
“You weren’t looking forward to seeing my Mom, either.”
“Well…”
“I’m not going to tell her what happened. It would only worry her. Hopefully Mike won’t say anything, either.”
“We’ll deal if she does,” Adam said. “What’s left to pack?”
“Mostly your books and CD’s.” Holly stepped back from him and sniffed, then wiped her eyes. She pulled the scrunchie out of her hair, then tightened her ponytail and put it back in. “Some kitchen stuff. Just throw it in the boxes. Don’t worry about labels. We’ll sort it out in Canaan. I just want to get the hell out of here before Billy knows we’re gone.”
“Amen.”
* * * * *
The movers arrived at three p.m. They parked on the sidewalk next to the apartment but still blocked half a lane of the street. The truck was huge, and though clean it smelled vaguely of livestock. The side panel, an enormous sheet of thick plywood, sported hand-painted lettering that read, “Holland’s Moving, Delivery, and Storage.” The letters of Storage were cramped together in order to fit.
“Have any trouble finding the place?” Adam asked as he walked out to greet them.
“Nah,” Elmer Holland said as he slammed the truck door shut. They had been lost for two hours. He was fiftyish and red-faced, with a well-chewed cigar sticking out of his mouth. “Man, I hate driving in Pittsburgh. Must of sat on Greentree hill for an hour. Don’t know how you folks do it every day.” Elmer, like most people from the country around Pittsburgh, had the mistaken belief that everyone who lived here spent their life in traffic. The reality was that it was only getting into and out of the city that was a problem. Lots of bridges and tunnels tended to back things up. Once in the city, things weren’t so bad.
“Open up the back, Joe,” Elmer said to his assistant. “Let’s get this done so we can get outta here.” Joe Dinsmore was Elmer’s nephew on his sister’s side. At nineteen he was a veteran of six years of working for his uncle. He already had a child and a drinking problem, and too many bills to pay. He unlocked the double doors on the back of the truck, then pulled on his work gloves and followed Adam and Elmer into the apartment.
After a couple of hours of heavy lifting the truck was loaded. Elmer proved to have better spatial manipulation skills than the lettering of his sign indicated. It was cramped, but everything fit.
Holly offered everyone iced tea when they were done, but Elmer declined. He pulled a six-pack of Iron City out of a cooler behind the seat, grabbed one for himself and tossed one to Joe. He held one out to Adam, and after a moment, Adam took it. After the day he had had, he figured one beer wouldn’t hurt.
“You sure we got everything?” Elmer asked. “’Cause we ain’t coming back for nothing. Once we’re outta them tunnels, you’re on your own.”
“I’m sure,” Adam smiled. He had grown to like Elmer already. “We have our suitcases with what we need for the next couple of days, and some toys for Michaela. We’ll be fine.”
“All right, then,” Elmer said. “You can send me a check after we get the stuff where it’s going.” He climbed up into the big cab and started the engine. “Gonna hit rush hour, ain’t we?”
“I’m afraid so,” Adam said.
“Damn!” Elmer drained his beer and tossed the can on the floor, then put the truck in gear. They rattled off the sidewalk and down the street. Adam watched until they were out of sight.
He never saw them again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I like it.” Holly brushed her hand across the newly trimmed beard on Adam’s cheek. “It’s much better than the shaggy look you’ve been sporting.” Adam smiled back at her. It was already dark as they pulled off the interstate at the Appleton exit.
“It was time,” Adam said. “Besides, can you just hear your mother if I had kept it long?”
“You look like a hippy,” Holly said in her mother’s voice, then giggled. “She’s not going to like this short beard either, you know.”
“So?” Adam said. “I’m not real fond of her mustache.”
“You’re bad,” Holly said. The Taurus sped through the lower end of town, past the strip malls and fast food restaurants that had cropped up in the last thirty years. They passed the abandoned Big Wheel Department Store and went under the railroad track. They merged onto High Street, the main thoroughfare through town. At the courthouse they turned left down Morrison, then right at Missy Varner’s Beauty Shop. There was parking along the street in front of Carol Evans house.
“You suppose she’ll make me sleep on the couch again?” Adam asked as he backed into the space.
“We’ll have been married eighty years and you’ll still be sleeping on the couch at my Mom’s house,” Holly said. “That twin bed in my old room isn’t really big enough for both of us, anyway, and Mike will probably want to stay with me tonight.” Holly turned to the back seat and touched her daughter’s foot, shaking it gently.
“Honey,” she said. “Wake up. We’re at Gran’ma’s house.” Mike opened her eyes slowly, and rubbed Buggly across her face. She yawned, then looked out the car window.
“Where’s Gran’ma?”
“In the house.” Holly unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car. As Adam lifted their suitcases out of the trunk Holly picked Michaela up and balanced her on her hip. Mike seemed to have gotten over the trauma of the day pretty well. She had awakened from her nap while the movers were there, and aside from being more shy and clingy than usual she appeared okay. Holly had taken her to McDonalds while the truck was being packed, and as the afternoon wore on she acted more and more normally. Adam chalked it up to the resilience of kids, but was wary. He knew they had to watch her closely for a while. He expected nightmares.
The porch light came on as they approached. The front door opened and Carol stood there, motioning them inside.
“Hurry up,” she said. “It got cold out.” She quickly closed the door behind them once they were in.
Carol Evans was a pear shaped woman, and though she was only in her fifties, she had given herself over to old age a long time ago. Her hair was cropped short in what Holly called the Old-Lady hairstyle. Years of coloring had damaged it into a permanent indistinct shade of brown. She wore over-sized blouses with flower prints in the summer and over-sized sweaters with embroidered scenes in the winter. Around the house she wore sweat pants that were too tight, and when she went out she wore polyester slacks that didn’t look much different than the sweats.
Her home, even though cluttered with a profusion of pictures and knick-knacks, was neater than a particularly anal-retentive pin. It smelled of Pine-Sol and cigarette smoke. Shelves and tables, pretty much every other available flat space actually, were occupied with her ever-growing collection of frogs. Stuffed frogs, ceramic frogs, and toy frogs of every kind and description filled the house like a well-ordered biblical plague. She had started the collection years ago, and it had grown, as Adam had once said, by leaps and bounds. His personal favorite sat on top of the television. It was an anthropomorphic frog, wearing an Indian war bonnet and a goofy grin, rowing a canoe. Adam couldn’t believe that such a thing could exist. One night last winter, on one of his worst days, he had thought of that frog for no reason, and simply begun to laugh. Somewhere, he reasoned, someone had been paid to design that damn thing, to make it, distribute it, and sell it. He was worrying about his livelihood when apparently there was absolutely no end to possible career choices out there.
