by J. Boyett
The bartender gently chose not to notice the threat. “The first time they came in they didn’t stay as long as Ted usually does. He had two beers and your sister had one. The second time she didn’t even finish her first one, and as soon as Ted ordered his second she was after him to finish and go. So he yelled at her to get out and drive home if she wanted to leave so bad, and she did. Ted had to call someone to come pick him up.”
“So what’s all this shit about Elly being a bitch, then?”
“I don’t know, man. She didn’t like us, was all. She was all dressed up and she acted like my bar was too skuzzy for her. It pissed me off, that’s all.”
The hand holding the mug handle started to fall, but Ricky rallied his strength and hefted it up again. “She wasn’t a bitch,” he said.
The bartender looked at Ricky a little pityingly and held up his hands, as if agreeing to pretend that Ricky had a weapon and was some sort of threat to him. He nodded, and said, “Okay. I’m sorry.”
Ricky kept glaring at him, but it became clear that the guy wasn’t going to go at him with a baseball bat or shotgun, and that the other two weren’t going to jump him either, so Ricky reluctantly set the broken handle down on the bar. “Okay,” he said, defeated.
“Yeah.” The bartender kept looking at him with that pitying look. He put his hands down, though. “Sorry about your sister, bro,” he said.
“Yeah.” Ricky started to walk out, but stopped and said, “You see Ted around, you tell him I’m out looking for him. Hear?”
The bartender shrugged. “Sure,” he said.
Well, that was it. It was over—Ricky gave up. “All right,” he said, then added, “See you later,” and immediately felt like a retard. He headed slowly towards the front door. Although the bartender continued to gaze at him with that kind pity, the other two were smirking. But that didn’t matter. They were assholes, but not bad enough for him to be able to do anything about it.
9.
On the drive back to her place from Ruby Tuesday, Ricky had casually asked Jesse, “So, where does Paul live?”
She’d looked at him. He hadn’t been able to tell whether it was a weird look, or not. “Why?” she’d asked.
“In case he wants to talk. Or in case I do. We kind of, I don’t know. Hit it off.”
Regardless of whether she’d thought it a weird question, she told him where Paul lived and gave him directions there from Vino’s.
Right now, though, he was headed back to his mom’s place on Baseline. He was starting to feel like he’d been neglecting his duties toward her.
That feeling was compounded when he pulled up in the driveway and saw that Aunt Lenora’s car wasn’t there. No cop cars, either—and he had his mom’s. She’d been left there alone, with no way to leave. What if she wanted to go to the funeral home and look at Elly’s body?
When he opened the front door he saw an open pizza box on the floor, with four slices still in it. Crusts were scattered around the floor, Ricky imagined their crumbs sinking in among the roots of the carpet. He felt dread at the sight, even though he knew that was ridiculous. Elly was murdered. Let Mom relax about the housekeeping, for fuck’s sake. But it reminded him of the bad old days, before he’d gone to jail. Like those times were leaking back in, those times of their origins, the rotten root of everything. “Mom?” he called, and stepped into the house. “Mom?” he called again, as he began to walk through the house looking for her.
He checked the kitchen. Then he checked his bedroom, but she wasn’t there. She was in Elly’s room. When he walked in she was on the floor on the other side of Elly’s bed, with her knees drawn up and her head hanging down. He almost thought she might really be hiding, so he knocked on the door and said “Mom?” like he was just checking to see if she was there. He expected her to say “Here,” or something else to give him permission to enter. She didn’t, though, and Ricky stood there, awkward and undecided. She was sniffing, though, loud enough that there was no way he could pretend he hadn’t heard her, so finally he came into the room. He carefully shut the door behind him.
He came and stood over her. It felt like he ought to sit beside her, but she didn’t make a sign like she wanted him to so he just stood there wondering what to do. His mother shuddered lightly. At last he reached down and put his hand on her shoulder, but she jerked violently away.
He looked around the bedroom for something to talk about. The walls had been painted since he’d gone away, but even so the paint job was not new. “Wow,” he said to make conversation, “I guess everything is still the way it was when Elly moved out.”
His mom made a mocking noise and raised her head now, though without actually looking at him. “What the fuck’re you talking about?”
“What? The room. Elly’s old room, with all her old stuff still in it. You came in here to . . . like . . . remember, I guess.”
“Have you even looked at this room? Does it look to you like it’s just the same as when Elly lived here?”
Now that Ricky looked around the room again, he saw that his mom was right. True, her bed was still in here, and on the metal shelves lining the walls he recognized some of her old board games (or had they been the family board games?), and a few of her books, or books that seemed like they could have been hers. But almost all the space had been taken over by file cabinets, old souvenir posters advertising the neighborhood association’s block parties, his exercise books, shit like that.
“Are you blind?” his mom was asking. “Can you not tell that this stuff is not hers?”
“I guess I didn’t notice,” he said, off-guard and confused.
“Yeah,” his mom snorted, as if that wasn’t exactly a big surprise. Before he could ask her what she meant by that, she’d already moved on: “When Elly moved out, she packed her shit and took it with her. Or else she got rid of it, because it was kid stuff. Do you know why that is? Do you know why she did that? Because she’s a grown-up. Unlike some people, who cleared out and left all their shit overflowing all over the place and left other people to take care of it.”
“What? Are you talking about me?”
“Figure it out.”
“Mom, I didn’t exactly want to leave the way I did.”
“I know, you went to jail. What a fucking comfort.”
“Mom. . . . I mean, why are you mad at me? I just came to check on you, is all. You seemed upset.”
“I am upset! Jesus!”
“Okay, okay, I know. . . . I guess I just. . . . I mean, I’m upset too, Mom. Why are you mad at me?”
“I just don’t see why you’re so much the older one but it’s still your sister who’s the grown-up. Can’t you even try to be like she is?”
“Like she was, Mom.”
Now his mom looked up at him, blankly, with her wrinkled gray face. Then she turned away again and her head hung limply to the side. Looking at the blue carpet, she said, “What are you doing here, anyway.”
He drove around the neighborhood a while. Once he actually started thinking about where he ought to go it seemed clear that he was going to Paul’s. There were a few old friends that he’d thought he was interested in looking up, back when he was on the verge of getting released. But they had mostly never been more than time-filling friends, and they didn’t fit with this context. Besides, he’d never been able to get himself really excited about seeing any of them. The only people it made sense to go looking for were Paul, Jesse, and Ted. He didn’t know where Ted was, and he’d just hung out with Jesse.
He had to drive all the way to Vino’s to get his bearings, then turn around and make his way to Paul’s place. Paul lived in a pretty shitty apartment complex, on the third floor. Jesse had said the exterior door was never locked, and it wasn’t locked now. Ricky made his way up the narrow staircase and knocked on his door, still not completely sure he’d remembered the apartment number right or even made it to the right complex. The walls were green and there was a dead mouse in one of the corners of the stairw
ell.
Paul opened the door. As it swung open he already had his head tilted back, as if he always assumed that whoever was knocking would be taller than him. Seeing Ricky, his eyes popped and his face lit up. “Dude!” he cried, and lurched forward to take Ricky in a bear hug, or the closest thing he could manage at his size.
Ricky could feel that Paul was trying to lift him up, so to be accommodating he raised himself on his tiptoes. After they stepped apart Paul clapped Ricky on the shoulders and said, “How you doing, man? You holding up all right?”
“Oh, yeah, you know. Okay. Considering.”
As if realizing what a terrible host he was being, Paul waved his arms around and said, “Come on in, dude! The place is a mess.” Ricky meekly followed Paul in.
Paul scurried ahead of Ricky and kicked a path through bags, cans and old empty boxes, then knocked junk off the loveseat to clear a space for him. Then he planted himself in a beat-up armchair that was already pretty clear, which suggested it was Paul’s usual spot. He used the armrests to lift himself up by his arms as he folded his legs under him, then sat cross-legged. “So,” he began, “what’s up? You just came to visit?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“You need to talk about stuff?” asked Paul, and looked at Ricky so solicitously that it made him feel weird. On the one hand Paul was making this face like the gravity of the situation could not possibly be overstated, but on the other hand it didn’t stop him from actually looking kind of cheerful.
Ricky didn’t really want to sit around and say “I feel sad” and shit like that. Instead he said, “I was wondering about that guy Ted.”
Paul looked at him. “What’re you wondering about him?”
“Well, he killed my sister, they think.”
Paul stared at Ricky a little longer, like he was thinking stuff over. Then he dropped his eyes and, sighing, nodded, as if Ricky had a good point. “Wow, yeah,” he said.
“So you think he’s the one who did it, too?”
“Well, like, or a robber.”
“Nothing got taken.”
“They could have broken in and then Elly came in and found them there and they just killed her, and then ran off.”
“They stabbed her in the face.”
“Well, what do the cops think? Do they think he did it?”
“They’re looking for him. They can’t find him.”
“Well. I guess they would know, dude.”
“Yeah, but what do you think? I mean, you know the guy.”
Paul dropped the eye contact, looked around the room and sighed again. “You know, man,” he said, “I always kind of tried to withhold judgment about that guy. Because of the circumstances. It was, like, me and Elly had just broken up after having dated for like years. So I had a bad feeling about him. But then I was like, Maybe I’m not being fair. Maybe I would have given Elly shit about any guy she went out with after me. Anyway, it wasn’t like it was exactly okay for me to talk shit about him to her. So I kept my mouth shut.”
“Kept your mouth shut about what?”
“Oh, just the feeling I had about him.”
“What was the feeling?”
“Just that he was kind of intense.”
Ricky scratched his head behind the ear. “I’d kind of like to find him.”
“Why?”
“Just to talk to him.”
“Well, he lives at 27 Clover Street, sort of towards the west side of town.”
“I don’t think he’s just sitting around his house, the cops haven’t even been able to find him.”
“Either way, dude, let the police handle stuff. What can you do that they can’t?”
“I just want to find him.”
“Why?”
“I just sort of want to be involved.”
“Look, Ted’s kind of an asshole. That doesn’t necessarily prove anything.”
“The cops must be pretty sure he’s the guy. Because otherwise they’d be questioning me. Right? Because, I mean, the day after I get released from jail for being involved in this big violent crime, my sister gets killed? And they don’t even talk to me? I think that’s weird.”
Paul stared at him. “You want the cops to, like, question you?”
Ricky was at a loss. “It just feels weird. Like, they must be really really sure that it’s this guy Ted if they’re not even going to talk to me.”
Paul kept staring, like he was trying to figure out what to do with him. Then he got up, waded through the trash over to Ricky’s couch, knocked some trash off the neighboring cushion, and sat beside him, squeezing Ricky’s knee reassuringly and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, man,” he said, “I know how you feel. I feel all fucked up, too. Earlier today I was going through the same stuff, I had to call Jesse and ask her to just sort of come over and hang out for a while.” That must have been before her and Ricky’s date. Paul rocked Ricky from side to side, using his knee and shoulder as handles. “That’s the kind of thing you got to do, man. That’s what’ll make you feel better! Is just hanging out, just talking it over with friends. Like what you’re doing now.”
“Sure.”
“I mean, what’re you thinking of doing even if you did find Ted? Are you thinking of doing anything crazy?”
Ricky kind of squirmed, but it was like he couldn’t really move that much, like Paul’s hands had immobilized him. “Not crazy,” he said.
“Hey.” Paul rubbed his shoulder, soothing him. “Hey, man, listen. I understand. You feel like you got to do something. But I think you’re kind of in shock, man. I think you’re sort of looking for some activity, to distract yourself from all this stuff that you’re probably feeling, deep down. But the truth is, there’s nothing you can do. I mean, it’s not like you can find Ted, if the cops can’t. And it’s not like it would really help, if you did find him. And then, once he got arrested, or whatever, you’d be right back where you are now. With all this grief, needing to come out.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious, man. Why are you looking for Ted? Even if you could find him? You were talking yesterday about hanging out with Jesse. That’s what you should be doing. She has a really healing energy. Believe me, I know. She was here earlier, like I said, and she made me feel way better.” Paul gave Ricky’s knee another squeeze, and added, “You could come over here, too, man, to talk. We both lost something really special yesterday. My door is, like, always open.”
Ricky had his hands clasped and hanging between his legs, and he was looking at his thumbs. “I just feel like I ought to find this guy because he killed Elly.”
“Well, but we don’t know that though.”
“Well, he beat her up then, right?”
“Well, yeah,” said Paul, nodding in acquiescence, “I guess that is true.” He rubbed Ricky’s shoulder and the back of his neck. “But what’re you going to do? You’re going to get yourself in a lot of trouble if you go looking for that guy. I mean, aren’t you still on parole and shit?”
Ricky was starting to get goose bumps from the way Paul was rubbing him. He stood up hurriedly. “Yeah,” he said. “Like I was saying, though. I feel like I ought to at least try to find the guy. Even just to talk to him.”
Paul got up too and followed him back to the front room. He shrugged, and said, “Sure. Well, like I said, he lives at 27 Clover Street.”
“Okay.” Ricky was hurrying to the front door. “Well, thanks, dude.”
As if he only now noticed that Ricky was leaving, Paul said in an almost surprised tone, “Can I get you anything, man? Like a beer or anything?”
“Naw. I’m going to head out.”
“Do you have anyplace to go?”
“I’m just going to drive around. Talk to people, and stuff.”
He was out the front door now, his left foot one step down the staircase, his right one still in front of Paul’s front door. “You sure, man?” said Paul.
“Yeah. I think so.”
Paul looked him up and
down for a while. Then he said, “I’m worried about you, man. I wish you’d think about staying here with me a while.”
“Yeah, I can’t do that, sorry.” Even though Paul’s face hadn’t changed in any recognizable way, Ricky suddenly had this feeling like he could get away if he wanted—it was like the air pressure had changed. He hurried down the stairs, calling “Bye” over his shoulder, and almost tripping over his feet and tumbling the rest of the way down.
10.
He drove around a while, aimlessly again. He didn’t want to go back and hang with Paul some more. There still was no one else in town to go see except his mom, Ted, and Jesse. He didn’t feel like he could handle trying to make up with his mom right now. The only place he knew to go hunting for Ted was 27 Clover Street, but it was retarded to think he might be just hanging around there. Maybe at Vino’s he could ask around and get some information about the guy, but he would feel awkward walking around questioning everyone. It seemed like Jesse was his best bet. Besides, she was the one most likely to agree to hang out with him.
At her apartment, he saw that all the cars but hers were gone. Awesome. Ricky didn’t feel like hanging out with a whole bunch of people.
He bounded up the crumbling concrete steps to her front door and, once he’d rung the bell, bounced from one foot to the other while he waited. He heard clumping around inside, and then Jesse opened the door, wearing the same clothes from their date, which after all had been less than two hours ago. She was taken aback to see Ricky there—she literally took a step back as her eyes got big.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” said Ricky, still bouncing back and forth from one foot to the other, his hands shoved way down deep in his pockets. She didn’t invite him in right away, so to fill the time he said, “What’ve you been up to?”
She turned her head away somewhat and leaned back from the waist, while still keeping her eyes locked on him. “Since Ruby Tuesday, you mean?”
He was creeping her out, he realized. He said, “I’m sorry. I just, I can’t go home. My mom doesn’t want me there. And I tried going and hanging out with Paul, but, well. . . .”