The New City

by Stephen Amidon

  Vine sat at a card table, facing the water. He was in a wheelchair, a Navajo blanket folded over his lap. He sat bolt upright, his hands resting on the table, each of them holding something that looked like a cigar. His thin white hair fidgeted in the sea breeze. A young male nurse, Indian as well, sat nearby, his folding chair leaning against the redwood rails. He was reading Mad magazine. He looked up. Savage nodded once. The nurse disappeared silently back through the doors.

  They took the chairs facing Vine. The old man was gone. That much was clear immediately. The mind-swept eyes, all color drained from their once violet pupils. The slackened folds of his throat, covered by a permastubble as white as dove feather’s. Wooten could now see what Vine held in his hands. Lincoln Logs. There was a whole set of them on the table, spewed from their chewed cardboard container. A few had been slotted together to form a rickety house frame, though most remained helter-skelter where they had fallen. A brief, sickening waft of Ivory soap mixed with something else, a cloacal substratum of decay, seeped from him. Wooten’s eyes traveled down to the chair, where the blanket had fallen back to reveal blue pajama bottoms covered with an archipelago of crusty stains. Above the pajama’s elastic waistband was a swatch of glossy diaper. A thin plastic tube ran over its safety pin and down to a thermos-sized container. The tube was speckled with small droplets that shone brilliantly in the sun.

  “Barnaby,” Savage was saying. “Earl’s here.”

  Something seemed to move in the old man’s eyes, though it might have simply been a trick of lake light. Not knowing what else to do, Wooten reached out to touch the back of his clammy hand. The veins were as hard as electrical wire.

  “Hello, Mr. Vine,” Wooten said.

  They waited. Nothing.

  “He brings good news, Barnaby. Everything is right on schedule. Everything is just fine in the city.”

  Vine had begun to squint as Savage spoke, as if the light from the water was hurting him. Wooten watched sadly as Vine’s eyelids finally came together and his mouth slowly opened, as if there were some great, creaking pulley system at work behind his face. His tongue looked like it had been coated with Elmer’s glue; his gums were pocked with deep purple sockets.

  “Nu …” he said, his voice surprisingly vigorous and loud.

  Savage and Wooten exchanged a look.

  “Mr. Vine?” Wooten asked.

  But nothing more was coming. Vine’s mouth began to close; his eyes reopened simultaneously. And then he was silent.

  “We’re going now, Barnaby,” Savage announced.

  Both men stood. Savage glanced at Wooten, who realized that he should say something.

  “The city’s almost done, Mr. Vine.”

  They headed back through the sliding-glass door, walking in silence until they reached the limo.

  “Hey, where’s the dog?” Wooten asked.

  Savage drew his finger across his throat.

  19

  Irma was poised to take Africa. Two more victories and she would achieve her mission. It had been a long campaign, fraught with sacrifice and setback. From the first roll of the dice she’d shown herself to be an impetuous player, ignorant of risk and overeager to commit her troops to battle. Just a few moves ago she chanced annihilation by massing her battalions in East Africa for assaults on Madagascar and the Congo, thereby leaving her Egyptian and South African flanks vulnerable. Teddy had to forgo his assigned mission—the liquidation of Susan’s red army—in order to cover her ass. It was a pity, because it would have been easy to maul Susan’s troops, drawing them into the frozen tundra of Yakutsk, where he could have turned them into husky food with just a few rolls of the dice. Or, if he wanted to take his time about it, lure her forces down to the Indonesian bottleneck, where they could be systematically driven into the sea.

  But Teddy wasn’t playing to win. He wasn’t even allowing himself the undeniable pleasure of smashing Susan. He was helping Irma. Secretly, of course. Technically, there was no way he should have known her goal. Mission cards were kept strictly under wraps. But Irma Truax wasn’t exactly a closed book. Her goals were as apparent as the mascara fortifying her eyes. Asia had been the first continent he’d let her win, slyly setting up his infantry in Siam and the Ukraine to fend off the girls while their mother mopped up. There were some awkward statistical mathematics to get through at first as he tabulated the odds of five rolled dice, but after a while he got the hang of it. Luckily, Susan and Darryl played with neither aggression nor finesse. Whatever soldierly skill the sarge possessed had clearly been lost in the genetic shuffle. They were strictly cannon fodder.

  Irma rolled the dice. Two fives and a four. Darryl, defending, responded. A three and a one.

  “Ah,” Irma said, her eyes dilating with the thrill of international trespass. “Madagascar.”

  Yes, Teddy thought. And you’ve only lost eighteen battalions taking it.

  “Looks like you’re unstoppable now,” he sighed in a beleaguered sort of way.

  “Whose turn is it?” Susan asked.

  Teddy handed her the dice.

  To be fair, Irma proved a more worthy opponent than he’d initially reckoned. Sally had mentioned how tenacious she was at bridge, an outsider who had clawed her way up through the ranks of the Newton round-robin with a doggedness that left the other women muttering. Though by no means gifted with much gray matter, she certainly kept the few cells she possessed working overtime. In Risk, this manifested itself in a refusal to retreat, no matter how many of her men got slaughtered. As they played, Teddy began to wonder if she’d had any relatives at Stalingrad.

  This bullheadedness was a quality he’d come to cherish in her these past few days. A more passive mind would have been harder to bring along. But Irma, with her surging ambition and blatant prejudice, could be figured like a toy abacus. The trick was to make sure all the moves had been decided before too many drinks vanished down her gullet. Currently, she was on her third sachet of whisky sour mix. Still in the combat zone, though teetering on the edge of oblivion. One more highball and she’d be a goner. Her speech would slur, her expeditionary forces veer off course. Time to wrap this up, Teddy thought.

  He rolled the dice.

  This was the fourth day in a row he’d visited the Truax house. His first visit had been Tuesday afternoon, just a few hours after he’d unsuccessfully tried to patch things up with Joel. He’d driven over to his house that morning, carrying the salvaged visor as a peace offering. But there was no answer when he knocked at the big front door. Which was strange, since Joel never left the house before noon. He walked around back to peer through the sliding-glass door. Nothing. As he turned to go he glimpsed the treehouse where they’d spent so many hours together. The foliage was so thick now you could barely see it. Man, they’d had some serious times back there. Porno mags and Boone’s Farm and Slim Jims. Hocking loogies into the surrounding trees, where they’d hang like larval sacs, sometimes for days. Teddy wondered if the graffiti he’d gouged in its soft wood was still there: “Joels got a tweezer dick.” Fairly fucking funny.

  This wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t.

  He trooped back to the Firebird, visor in hand. Though he could have easily left it in the mailbox, he wanted to hand it over to Joel in person, so his friend could see how Teddy had gone back for his property at considerable personal peril. When he got to the car a stray bit of extrasensory intuition caused him to look back at the house. And there was Joel, barely visible behind half-drawn curtains. Teddy, figuring that his friend had been in the crapper or listening to some headphoned tunes, began to walk back toward the house. But the look on Joel’s face froze him before he even made it to the gaslight. His eyes were as cold as a dead planet. He’d heard the knock. He knew who was there. Teddy spread his hands and gave what he thought to be an apologetic grimace. Joel vanished. Teddy stood his ground for what seemed like an hour, thinking that maybe he was coming down. But the front door remained firmly closed, the house quiet. In the end, there was nothi
ng left for him to do but hop in his Firebird and split.

  He couldn’t believe his friend was doing him like this. He had to know that Teddy had called him a Tom only to get him out of a serious beating. They were friends. Teddy and Joel. Light-years beyond all that bullshit. How many times had he helped Joel out in the past? With homework. Getting him out of trouble with the Earl. Supplying him with gratis buds and copious brew. And then there were the thousand small slights he’d suffered without comment since the advent of Susan. There had to be something that would bring Joel around. A gesture to remind him that their friendship was indomitable.

  Teddy spent the next few hours locked in his room, listening to Plastic Ono as he tried to figure out what to do. It ain’t fair, John Sinclair, indeed. He ignored his mother’s entreaties to come down for lunch. He’d stay in here all day and all night if he had to. This was important. There had to be something. But nothing he came up with seemed right. Dope, tickets, rides. That weekend in Ocean City. The usual things wouldn’t work. He needed something special.

  And then, halfway through “I Found Out,” just as John was saying how he’d seen religion from Jesus to Paul, it came to him. Of course. The plan was so obvious he kicked himself for not coming up with it right there in the Wootens’ front yard. There was indeed something he could give to Joel. A gift that would erase forever Monday night’s betrayal. A nice blond package. About five-seven, a hundred and ten pounds. Scented with strawberry perfume and grape gum. Susan herself. Having taken her away, Teddy would now give her back to Joel, the forbidden fruit he thought he’d never be able to taste again. Better still, she would be the new, improved Susan. Gone would be the rebellious, gum-smacking, Teddy-hating bitch of old, replaced by an obedient, grateful and polite girl who would be utterly under his thumb. A demure young lady who would know the score. A gift to make Joel’s life perfect. Teddy would arrange things so the two of them could get back together. Only this time there would be no ditching.

  After the initial rush of inspiration he started hammering out the details. It would be a tough plan to execute. This was no dope run to College Park. The risks were substantial. But he was sure he could pull it off. And when he succeeded, he would have his best friend and his perfect summer back. And maybe, if he worked it just right, he’d be able to arrange some further glimpses of the sight that had lingered in his mind since Saturday and fueled a half dozen thundering jackoffs; a sight that had supplanted even his Two Virgins album cover as erotic inspiration—those two entwined bodies moving slowly through the candlelight.

  By midafternoon Tuesday he was ready to get to work. First thing to do was breach the Truax bulwarks, no small task given the fact that Susan’s father would be on the gate. But before he could even leave the house he was visited by an amazing stroke of luck. It happened when he found the Swope unexpectedly ensconced in his study, watching the Cradle’s balls do their thing. Though in a hurry, Teddy decided to give the old man a few minutes. He looked like he could use some cheering up.

  He was glad he did. After the usual persiflage, his father swore Teddy to secrecy, then told him not to be surprised if he saw John Truax around the house over the next few weeks, as he was now working for the Swope in a hush-hush capacity. Teddy nodded soberly at the news, hardly able to keep from hollering in delight at this most excellent bit of serendipity. Not only did this mean that Truax would probably be out of the way for his incursions into Susanville—it also dealt Teddy a trump card to slap on the table if the sarge got frisky. After all, the man would have to think long and hard before crossing his new boss’s son.

  He set out for Fogwood in a buoyant mood. He decided to lay off the dope, knowing he’d need a clear head. His opponent would be formidable indeed. Not Susan, of course. Despite her pissing and pouting, she’d be so much putty. It was her mother who worried him. The redoubtable Irmagard Truax. He’d seen her at the party, seen her rage when she caught Joel. And he also knew that beneath the irrational histrionics lurked a calculating mind that would be able to sniff out what he was up to at the first slip-up. He would have to step lightly. One false move and she’d be on him like white on rice.

  Sure enough, it was Irma who answered the door, her face a veritable mask of suspicion. She was dressed in a floral housecoat that exhausted all the available shades of yellow and green. He could smell the sweet booze on her breath.

  “Hello, Mrs. Truax. How are you?”

  “Susan isn’t seeing anyone today,” she said, her voice stern.

  Teddy shook his head, as if he’d been misunderstood.

  “Actually, it was you I wanted to talk to. Are you busy?”

  This took her by surprise.

  “No, I’m not busy.” She stared at him for a moment. “Come in.”

  She led him into their small living room, gesturing for him to sit in a chocolate brown chair beneath a small gallery of Lladro figurines. She perched on the edge of the sofa. Afternoon light poured through the picture window, forming a petrochemical nimbus around her Final Net-stiffened hair.

  “Mrs. Truax, I think I owe you an apology.”

  There was another surprised pause. Teddy felt like Ali, softening her up with the left. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee—Nazi can’t hit what Nazi can’t see.

  “An apology?”

  “I know about what happened with Susan and Joel.”

  Irma’s expression darkened. Careful, Teddy thought.

  “And I feel sort of responsible for it.”

  “Responsible?”

  “A few weeks ago, well, I guess I began to wonder if something … inappropriate was going on between them.”

  “Yes?”

  “Joel, I mean, you know he and I used to be sorta close.”

  “Used to …”

  Teddy waved this detail off as something too painful to talk about right now.

  “So a month ago he starts acting all weird. It’s like he doesn’t have time for me anymore. You couldn’t talk to him. His eyes were all distant. It was like he was obsessed. Like some kind of … animal or something.”

  He stopped, trying to gauge from her expression if he’d gone too far. But he could see that he’d have to travel many miles down this particular road to go too far. He relaxed into the chair’s encompassing brownness. Round one to the challenger, Kid Teddy.

  “And then, you know, he made it clear that he didn’t want me around him and Susan. This was after those ni … after there was trouble at the teen center.”

  “I heard about that.”

  “It’s a shame. Some people just don’t know how to act, I guess.”

  “No.”

  “It was then that I heard something that bothered me.”

  Irma was all ears.

  “Joel was with some other guys at the mall, some blacks from Renaissance Heights. His new friends, I guess you’d call them. I went to say hello and just before I got there I heard him saying things.”

  “Things?”

  “About Susan. About what he was … doing with her.”

  Irma looked at those glazed puppies and lambs. Her jaw working.

  “Anyway, the point is, I’ve been thinking that maybe I should have said something to you. But it’s just so … awkward. God, I don’t know.”

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  “No,” Irma said eventually.

  “No?”

  “You must not blame yourself. It is only one boy’s fault.”

  Teddy nodded.

  “Have you seen him since …” Irma wondered.

  “I went by yesterday but he wouldn’t even let me in. It’s like everybody’s to blame but him. I tried to tell him it was his own fault but he’s practically slamming the door in my face. I guess ol’ Joel’s burning his bridges.”

  Disgust clicked deep in Irma’s mouth.

  “He has a real bad temper, Joel does,” Teddy said wistfully.

  “They all do.”

  Teddy shrugged.

  “Hence the teen c
enter,” he reasoned.

  “It’s all this living so close together.”

  Teddy decided to press home his advantage.

  “What really gets me mad … I mean, I ran into these guys last night who saw Joel after, you know, Saturday happened. The way they put it—I mean this is gross—but they made it seem like he was bragging about getting caught by you. Like it was some kind of badge of honor or something.”

  “Bragging,” Irma repeated darkly.

  “When I heard that, I knew I’d better come over here and let you know that I’m not part of all this gossip about Susan. I mean, I really respect her. The thought of her name being besmirched galls me to no end.”

  Teddy wondered about that “besmirched.” It might not be in her vocabulary. But Irma didn’t seem to be missing any of the essentials. Her creamy complexion had turned a just-slapped pink.

  “Bragging,” she whispered.

  “I just feel bad for Susan in all this.”

  “That’s nice of you,” she said, still distracted by her fury.

  Teddy stood.

  “Anyway. I just wanted to let you know that I feel bad. I mean …”

  “Yes?”

  “I know you’re going to do what you have to in terms of Susan, but I just hope you keep in mind that, well, Joel can be pretty aggressive.” He shook his head. “It’s a shame. I really like her. It’s just hard to … compete with a guy like that.”

  Irma nodded, as if some deep truth had just been shared.

  “Well, I better go.”

  When they got to the door he seemed to have an idea.

  “Can I ask you something? You can say no.”

  “Ask.”

  “Do you mind if I come by once in a while and see Susan? No big deal. Just watch TV. Go out for a walk or something. She’s gonna get sort of lonely.” Teddy inserted a small choke in his voice. “I know I am.”

  Irma looked at him for a long moment. Teddy began to think he really had gone too far with that muffled sob. But then the faintest of smiles split her lipstick.

  “That would be fine, Edward.”