Bad Parts

by Brandon McNulty

  Everything but Mac’s abduction.

  Upon reaching the burial site, Rosita groaned. Not at the sight of the body bag beneath the pines, but at the lack of progress on the grave.

  “That’s all you did, Karl?” She dropped her shovel at her feet. “Forget it. I’m not digging. Why should I, when clearly you didn’t?”

  “You said it, Rose.” Werner tossed his shovel beside hers. “Karl basically scraped the dirt and called it a day.”

  “I told you, the ground’s hard.” Karl stabbed the dirt to demonstrate. His shovel barely nicked the surface. “See? Now if you don’t mind, let’s start. I only got forty minutes left on my break.”

  “Oh, great.” Rosita brushed dirt from her peacoat. “That means we’ll have to pick up the slack. By the way, Karl, you owe me a new coat. This was three hundred dollars.”

  “Whoa, now,” he said. “I didn’t tell you to wear white in the woods.”

  Rosita made a flustered clucking noise. Karl and Candace traded a glance and tried hard not to laugh.

  Everyone started shoveling. Karl focused on the Werners. Neither seemed upset about digging Mac’s grave. He wanted to call them out on it, but he held his tongue until they stopped to wipe their brows. Werner caught Karl looking at him and glared back.

  “What’s the matter, Karl? Got a thing for me, you sicko?”

  “Nothing of the sort.” Karl glanced over at the body bag. “Just wondering how you find the strength to dig at a time like this.”

  “Easy. I actually try, unlike you.”

  “Doesn’t Mac’s death bother you?”

  “Course it does.” Werner leaned on the handle of his shovel and scowled. “When we find the asshole who did this, I’m gonna dig him a grave right where he’s standing.”

  “That so?” Karl asked, his tone dubious.

  “I ain’t kidding.” Werner’s voice cracked a bit. He stabbed his shovel through the dirt. “This pisses me off. Mac was one of us. And what happened to him, getting killed for his kidneys, that’s sick. Downright sick.”

  “Say, Bill,” Karl said, approaching him. “Anyone you know need kidneys?”

  “No.”

  Karl met his eyes. “You sure?”

  “Am I sure?” Werner scoffed. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  Karl held his stare.

  “What?” Werner said. “You saying I had something to do with this?”

  Karl shrugged. “Only asked if you knew someone who needed kidneys.”

  “Do you, Bill?” Candace asked, tossing a shovelful. Her eyes darted from one Werner to the other. “What about you, Rosita?”

  “Wait, so that’s why we’re here?” Rosita asked, offended. “You think we’d stoop that low?”

  “Your husband has before,” Candace said, drawing near. “Let’s not forget the time he lost his temper with you. Then you had no choice but to join the Traders.”

  “That was different!” Rosita snapped.

  Karl furrowed his brow. This was news to him. When Rosita joined, he assumed it was an unfortunate health issue. But if Bill had harmed her, why should he hesitate to harm an old man? Especially if he needed the man’s kidneys.

  “Lost your temper, huh?” Karl said. “What happened?”

  “Stay outta this, Karl!” Werner slapped his spade down. “We didn’t touch Mac. Stop trying to pin it on us.”

  “I’ve had enough,” Rosita said. “Bill, we’re leaving.”

  “Stay put,” Karl said, dropping his hand to his gun. “Until we get our facts straight.”

  “We didn’t take him!” Werner said. “Fact!”

  “Settle down,” Candace said. “We need to make sure you’re not a threat to the group.”

  “A threat?” Werner said, his face turning sriracha-sauce red. “I’m not out to get nobody. You want to see a threat, look no further than this goon.” He poked a finger at Karl. “Earlier I caught him chit-chatting with Donnie Adler, of all people.”

  Karl’s stomach flipped. He was supposed to be exposing the Werners, not the other way around. He racked his brain, desperate to change the subject.

  “Donnie Adler?” Candace said, turning to Karl. “Isn’t he the one who got trashed one night and cooked his face in a firepit?”

  Karl stood numb. Candace was too sharp not to connect Snare’s offer to Adler’s ruined flesh. “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “Why were you talking to him?”

  “Parking ticket,” he said, mouth dry.

  “You wrote him a ticket?”

  “Nope. Let him off easy.” He drove his shovel down. “Holiday spirit, y’know?”

  “Thought the borough needed those fees,” Werner said.

  “That’s right,” Karl said. “But Alder’s had it rough.”

  Candace cleared her throat. “You mean with his burnt skin?”

  “That,” Karl said, choosing his words carefully, “and at home. Said the wife’s been giving him a hard time. Been there myself, so I gave him a pass.”

  “A pass,” Candace said. “Did you give him anything else?”

  “Anything else?” Karl sensed the forest closing around him like a big green fist. He wanted to run but couldn’t. Not without looking guilty. If Candace decided he had attempted to recruit Adler for a trade, she could accuse him of betraying the group. The punishment for that would put him out of the picture till after Snare’s deadline. Possibly longer. “No, nothing else.”

  “You sure? No neighborly advice?”

  “No.” His voice sounded small. “Nothing.”

  Candace frowned. Her silence left his ears thirsty. He’d rather she yell at him, call him a liar, or even threaten something awful. Silence was worse. It stirred with possibilities. Ugly ones.

  The moment passed and they resumed shoveling. At one point, Karl noticed Mac’s body bag under the nearby pine.

  With the way Candace kept looking at him, he wondered if he’d be joining his old friend.

  25

  When Ash finally returned home, Trent’s car was back in its spot. Just the guy she needed to speak with. She marched up the sidewalk, gripping one six-pack and hugging the other against her side. She elbowed the doorbell twice before hearing the slap of feet inside. The door opened. She expected Trent but instead got the kid. At his side he held a baseball bat, its scuffed tip touching the floor. The bat served as his cane, it seemed, which was both cute and heartbreaking.

  “Who’s there?” he asked, turning his ear.

  “Me. Your…dad’s sister.” She almost said aunt but didn’t. Too weird. Plus, the title reeked of responsibility, like she’d have to send him money on his birthday. She stepped in, her nose catching the smell of chopped onions. “Your dad around?”

  “Yeah.” The kid didn’t sound enthused. He faced her now, and she noticed the glossy pink scars around his sunglasses. She hated to think what had done such damage. The kid must’ve sensed her staring, because he turned away and guided himself toward the kitchen doorway, bat scraping the floor.

  “That bat seems handy,” she said. She didn’t know what else to say. Normally she didn’t talk to kids, unless you counted Cheeto. “You big into baseball?”

  “Yeah.” He turned his head. His lips trembled. “I was real good.”

  Something broke inside her. She didn’t know a damn thing about this kid, but she could tell from his tone that baseball meant everything to him. She knew the feeling. Knew it too well. Since losing her hand, she’d felt isolated. Trapped within a body that couldn’t chase her desires. It wasn’t just her hand that was crushed under her Gibson but her true self. And, like her, this kid had lost more than a body part. More than sight. He’d lost the person he wanted to become.

  “How good?” she asked, balancing a six-pack against her ribs. The bottles jingled. “Win any awards?”

  “I made the all-star team.” The kid perked up, his shoes squeaking on the tiles. “I had more hits than anyone on my regular-season team. Like a lot more. We only won six games, but witho
ut me we might not have won any.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing.” She smiled for the first time in what felt like forever. “Sounds like you were their MVP.”

  “I was real good at batting, but not at outfield. Still, one time I dove in front of a grounder and stopped it with my belly. That saved two runs. You should’ve seen me!”

  Ash laughed. He reminded her of herself after a big show. Post-game pride apparently ran strong in the Hudson family.

  Down the hall a toilet flushed. Trent rounded the corner, stumbling like a three-legged giraffe. The moment he saw her and the kid laughing together, his teeth clamped shut in disgust. “Ash, get away from him.”

  “What? Why?” she asked. “Relax, I just asked him about baseball. He was telling me about making the all-star team.”

  “He—wait, he talked to you?” Trent gawked. “Jake, she’s the one who wrecked my leg!”

  Jake only shrugged, and Trent winced as if he’d been jabbed in the nuts. When he regained his composure, he banged his cane like a judge’s gavel. “Get over here, Jake.”

  Jake grunted.

  “Get away from her. Now.”

  “The hell, Trent?” Ash said. “We were just talking.”

  “Now, Jake.” Trent hammered his cane. “Don’t make me take your iPod away.”

  Jake dropped his shoulders in boyish frustration. Guided by his bat, he approached Trent. But instead of taking Trent’s outstretched hand, he rushed into the kitchen.

  “Champ, wait!” Trent said. Before he could turn around, the kid disappeared into the den and slammed the door. Trent tried the knob and found it locked. Fuming, he turned to Ash. “The hell you think you’re doing?”

  “I think I’m…watching whatever I just watched.”

  Trent glared back. “Oh, you think you’re funny?”

  “The kid did nothing wrong.”

  “He talked to you.”

  “So?”

  “He doesn’t talk to me. Not anymore.”

  “Seriously?” She eyed Trent. When he didn’t answer, she set her six-packs on the table. Using her elbow to steady a bottle, she twisted the cap off. She gulped away, the beer hitting her throat like heaven. “Want a drink?”

  “I want you gone.”

  “Makes two of us,” she said. “You want the leg or not?”

  “It really doesn’t matter.”

  “So you’re content to limp around?”

  “You should’ve asked me that ten years ago before you got wasted and crashed the van.”

  The comment stung like a scorpion’s tail. The fact that she was drinking right now only made her feel guiltier.

  “Honestly, Ash, I don’t give a shit anymore.” His face turned redder by the word. “Limp, no limp, who cares?”

  “It’d be easier to help your kid with two good legs.”

  “Even easier if Snare could trade him some eyes.”

  “I’m working on it, okay?”

  “Not hard enough.” He tapped his cane impatiently. “You know what? Count me out.”

  “Fine. Another guy in town needs a leg anyway.” She waited for him to take the bait, but he went to the counter, grabbed a fresh onion, and slammed it on a cutting board. Sighing, she followed him. “Trent, I want the leg to be yours.”

  “Course you do.” He cut the onion down the middle. “If I get it, you don’t have to feel bad anymore.”

  “So you’re refusing the leg to spite me?”

  “I’m refusing because I have responsibilities.” He kept slicing. Her eyes prickled. The way he dragged the blade made her wonder if he pictured her throat beneath it. “Y’see, Ash, parents have to give a shit about someone other than themselves. Maybe that’s a mindblow for you, so give it a minute to sink in.”

  “Real funny.”

  “It’s the truth. Now, say I take Snare’s deal, get a new leg, and dance for joy. Woo-fucking-hoo.” He bobbled his head in mock celebration. “But later when I try leaving town, my leg starts buzzing. Then what? Then I’m stuck here for life. Just like Dad.”

  “Snare’s letting us leave.”

  “What if Snare’s lying?”

  “Snare isn’t lying.” She knew what she’d heard at the creek—a desperate soul yearning for freedom. “Call it gut instinct.”

  “I’d sooner call it horseshit.”

  “Then why insist on your kid trading his eyes?”

  “First of all, my ‘kid’ has a name.” He pushed the blade down, dicing the onion. Her eyes stung. “Second, if Jake and me both get stuck in Hollow Hills, I can live with that. But if it’s just me, that fucks up everything. We already have a special school lined up for him in Jersey. He starts soon, and I gotta be there for him.”

  “You will.” She understood his logic. She really did. But at the same time, she thought he was an idiot for ignoring this opportunity. “Trent, don’t blow this.”

  Sighing, he swept the diced onions onto a plate. He set the knife down and pressed both palms on the counter, steadying himself. For the longest time he stared down at his leg.

  “Trent—”

  “Stop pretending you give a shit, all right?”

  “What, you think I don’t? You think I just moved on and forgot you?” Her eyes burned. It had nothing to do with the onions. “Trent, it eats through me like acid. Every day. Every night. I feel it in my head, my heart, my stomach—”

  “I know.”

  “You’re not letting me finish.”

  “Don’t need to,” he said. “I know the feeling. Maybe not for as long as you have, but…however shitty you feel, multiply it by the largest number you can think of. That’s how bad I feel about what I did to Jake.”

  “What…what happened?”

  Trent took a deep breath. Exhaled. Ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “This past summer I took Jake to a cabin I rented in north Jersey. There was a lake, so I borrowed some fishing rods and planned a father-son weekend. While we were casting lines off a rocky peninsula, this old man in a Mets cap yelled over. Jake and me were wearing Phillies gear, so I figured the guy was a ball-buster. Turned out he was a doctor. A neurologist.

  “He asked about my leg, what was damaged, what treatments I’d received, everything. Then he mentioned this experimental program and asked if I’d like to be a candidate.

  “I couldn’t wait to sign up. The doc invited me out to New York for eligibility tests, but I couldn’t wait that long. I didn’t want to spend two weeks getting my hopes up only to find out my nerves were too fried to qualify. So the doc invited Jake and me back to his cabin. Next thing I knew, I was Skyping this guy in a white coat while Dr. Mets Fan applied pressure to a thousand different spots on my leg.

  “After about fifteen minutes, Jake got bored and asked if he could go swimming. I told him no, but he kept complaining. Between the tests and Jake’s moaning, I was getting super anxious. Then the doc tucked two fingers behind my calf and frowned. I could tell by the look in his eyes that my chances were shot. Right then Jake announced he was gonna dive into the lake and catch fish with his bare hands. I didn’t stop him. I didn’t want him to see me cry.

  “He was out the door before it dawned on me. I knew there was only one spot where Jake could dive from—that rocky peninsula, the one we were fishing off. I also knew if he dove off the edge, there’d be more rocks waiting beneath the water.

  “Without thinking twice, I rushed out of the cabin. Didn’t even grab my cane. I flat-out ran on my bum leg until it gave out. Then I panic-crawled like a wounded animal. Somehow I reached the lake. It was shining in the sunlight. It looked fucking beautiful, like something that could never hurt my son.

  “I still remember it, Ash. Frame by frame like a bad movie I’ve seen a million times. Jake was there, shirtless and shoeless, bending his knees at the edge of the rock, bouncing in place. Then he jumped straight up. At some point his body tipped forward like a dolphin and he dove face-first through the surface. Head, shoulders, waist—all of it went through cleanly. I though
t he was okay.

  “Then everything jolted.

  “His feet flinched. It was as though time had stopped.

  “But time hadn’t. He had.

  “I rushed into the lake and swam after him. By the time I got there, he was floating face down, like a dead boy. When I dragged him ashore, I flipped him over and saw his eyes. They were more red than white. He wasn’t moving. Later, I found out that when his face struck the jagged rocks, the impact sent enough pressure back to his brain to knock him out. Thank God for that. If he were awake…”

  Trent sniffled. Wiped his eyes with a knuckle.

  Ash stood there, her throat dry despite the taste of beer in her mouth. She waited for him to finish, but he never did. He only shook his head, slowly at first, then faster, as if trying to shake the memory from his brain.

  26

  Before she completely lost her shit, Ash ran upstairs and locked herself in the bathroom. She turned the fan on and paced back and forth between the door and toilet. The pressure inside her kept building until she slammed her fist off the sink.

  That felt good. Real good.

  Looking up at the mirror, she wanted to smash it. She’d done that before. Many times. Broke at least a dozen motel mirrors before learning her lesson when a shard of glass got stuck between her second and third knuckle. That happened after a show in Toledo when the bar owner refused to pay her because their music scared away half the customers.

  “Goddammit!” she roared at her reflection.

  Instead of breaking the glass, she dropped onto the toilet. She couldn’t believe her bad luck. Coming home just now, she’d been hoping to recruit Trent and bury her guilt for good. Instead, he unleashed a story about him being unable to save his kid from going blind—all because he couldn’t run fast enough. Like it was her fault he couldn’t save the kid in time.

  Launching to her feet, she charged the mirror again. Couldn’t wait to shatter it. Soon as the shards hit the sink, she’d feel better. Something about breaking glass put her at ease.