It finally occurred to me to stop deliberating about what I should have done and go find a phone to call an ambulance. If either Hartley or Carrot Top died, there would be no end to Arlie’s already considerable problems. And he would be alone in another few weeks.
By the time I returned, Arlie had set our bikes back up on their kickstands and stood waiting for me like he was ready to get underway. He was still breathing heavily and wiped his face on his sleeve as I approached. In spite of his diminutive size, he looked dangerous. Hell, he was dangerous. And I was his mentor. And I no longer had any idea what I was doing. Or what I had done. I hoped maybe he was just hidden away somewhere down deep under the carnage that was his life since meeting me.
The distant wail of the approaching ambulance seemed as much a warning for me to regain control of the situation as for clearing traffic. Now I needed to save Arlie yet again, but I had no idea how. The profound awareness I was about to fail at my one remaining objective, saving Arlie, settled over me like a cold fog, obscuring any idea of what might lie ahead.
Hartley had bled out by the time the ambulance arrived, but Carrot Top was still conscious and, except for the bird calls emanating from just below his Adam’s apple, seemed quite normal. Arlie had performed a near perfect tracheotomy. As the EMTs loaded Carrot Top into the ambulance, the police arrived. Arlie blew out an impatient breath.
“Well, I guess I’m screwed now.”
Chapter 28
Back home, Mom listened about ten seconds before ignition.
“My God, Cager, these are the same kids that nearly killed you and Arlie the day Joey was murdered?”
I nodded.
She raged about the kitchen for almost a minute before sitting down at the breakfast table and fanning her face with her hands. Finally calm again, she said, “By the way, where’s Arlie now?”
“The police took him. I told him not to say anything without an attorney but he didn’t listen. He was confident he had only given them what they had coming and told the cops as much. They weren’t interested in my version. Just got my name then told me they had all they needed and for me to go home.”
“Well, where did Arlie learn to throw a knife? Did you teach him that?”
“Me? I don’t know how to throw a knife. It’s just something he picked up.”
“He just picked up how to throw a stiletto into one boy’s throat and slash open a major artery of another? I just don’t believe that.”
“And neither will the police.”
“You’re probably right. Maybe we should go down to the sheriff’s office and make sure Arlie’s being treated properly.” Mom looked up at me for a moment. “I’ll get my purse. Meet me at the car.”
***
Arlie was just leaving with the Goodwilloughs when we pulled up. Mom and I were about to join them when an incoherent bellowing rose up from the far end of the parking lot. A fleshy, red-faced man in grimy overalls staggered drunkenly toward Arlie waving arms about and screaming obscenities. The two boys who had run away earlier stood behind him watching with a good measure of excitement on their faces. It was obviously Hartley McDuff’s father. Fortunately, a deputy pulled into the lot at the same time.
Arlie just stood his ground as McDuff bore down on him. To his credit Mr. Goodwillough stepped in front of Arlie but McDuff simply threw Goodwillough aside and grabbed Arlie by the neck. He was shaking Arlie like a rat when the deputy dropped McDuff with a truncheon. I noticed the two boys climb back into the truck. I let the deputy know that two of the attackers involved in a death a few hours earlier were at the end of the parking lot. The deputy stepped over to his patrol car and called for backup. After that, pandemonium ensued.
The boys made a run for it when they saw the deputy approaching. Unfortunately for them, the parking lot had an eight foot chain link fence surrounding it. For the deputy, it was like chasing goldfish around a bowl. He finally caught one of the boys by his collar but the other made a break for the still-open entry gate. It was Sweat Rings, the plump kid I had almost neutered that day Joey was taken. He was pumping hard as he flew across the gravel lot.
“Outta my way, dip wad,” he wheezed, already out of breath as he bore down on me.
I obliged but stuck my foot out as he hurtled by at full tilt. It was one of the more satisfying moments of the eighth grade ... the over-extended, loping strides as he tried to get his feet back under his center of gravity but never quite making it. The continued forward plummet. The beefy arms reaching out, stiff, to break the unstoppable fall. Gravel spattering out ahead of him as his knees hit the ground. Then his palms. Then the satisfying bounce of his head as his face rebounded from the gravel surface. I thought for a moment about going over and holding him down until the deputy could get to him but figured it would be better to let him get away. They wouldn’t have any difficulty finding him now that they had his buddy. Maybe they could add another charge to his growing list of misdemeanors.
He pulled himself up and wobbled toward the entrance. As he reached the open gate, he leaned against the hinge post for a moment glaring back at me. Blood dripped from his chin.
I waved. “Did you have a nice trip?”
He gave me the finger and limped away. About that time two more patrol cars bounced into the parking lot spilling deputies to join those already clambering out of the sheriff’s office.
The cops had hauled the belligerent McDuff up onto his feet again, handcuffed, but not finished with his attack on Arlie. This was becoming a familiar scene. Two deputies grabbed him as he tried to sucker-rush Arlie who still stood his ground, defiance radiating from his face.
“You’ll pay for killin’ my boy you worthless little runt. When I get loose from here I’ll hunt you down and make you wish you was never born, boy.” He was still babbling threats as they hauled him into the booking area. The kid who didn’t get away scowled menacingly at Arlie as the deputy dragged him along by the shirt collar. I noticed Mom taking it all in.
After the dust cleared and Mom was talking with the Goodwilloughs, I asked Arlie how it went.
He glanced up at me uneasily. “Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut like you said.”
Chapter 29
That should have been the end of it, but Southern scion, Tiberius Colcraine the 3rd, the district attorney, still pumped from his slam-dunk conviction of Mr. Quintin, had seen Arlie’s unrepentant statement and the photo of the black stiletto still showing traces of blood along the blade edge. He decided he couldn’t pass up the chance to put Old Man Quintin’s son away too.
“This bad seed has sprouted from the same bloody ground as his child-molesting father. No innocent boy carries a razor sharp stiletto in a secret sheath to school every day unless he intends to use it. And use it he did. Not to deter, but to kill.” the paper quoted. “This was no random meeting. This was a setup for revenge and murder and I intend to prove it in a court of law.”
DA Colcraine’s statement had some truth, of course, but was viewed through the wrong end of the looking glass. It was Hartley who had set himself up for a homicide. But now that the prosecutor had made his intention public, things began to happen in rapid succession.
Clearly, it was to be a show trial. The charge was manslaughter. While not as serious as the father’s charges, it would, nonetheless, add a feather to Colcraine’s cap. Or rather his imitation cowboy hat—a straw replica worn mostly by Florida okra growers. It was an affront to real cowboys everywhere—but in his own mind Colcraine rode the Pine Barrens of West Florida thwarting evil. Even if he wasn’t able to recognize it when he tripped over it. And, counterfeit cowboy or not, he had Arlie dead in his sights and the prosecutorial resources of the entire state of Florida to back him up.
It was now out of my hands.
***
Before school was ever out I had planned a last camping trip for Arlie and me. It was to be our final big outing together before I left for California. Arlie rode up on his bicycle that afternoon as he always did.
I had told him earlier about Dad’s new job. He was keenly disappointed but he knew how to handle disappointment. He was probably the world’s expert at it.
The weather looked fair that day except for a yellow-tinted sky that told of burning cane fields across the river. They only burned the fields when rain was expected later. Well, we could handle a little rain. We were busily packing up our gear in the garage when Mom came out and told us both to sit down and pay attention.
“I just got a call from Henry Goodwillough. A U.S. marshal has been by his house to pick you up, Arlie. Henry told the marshal you were out riding your bike and would be back later. The marshal told Mr. Goodwillough to call him when you returned.”
“What’s all that mean, Mrs. Fenton?” Arlie was concerned. His eyes said so.
“I guess the prosecutor has made good on his promise to charge you in that boy’s death. The marshal had a warrant for your arrest. You’ll probably have to be booked and remain in jail until Henry can make bail for you.”
Arlie’s borderline calm vanished at that last statement. “Jail?”
“It will just be until the judge sets your bail.”
“No. Don’t let them put me in jail.” He stood up, his eyes darting about as if searching out a place to hide. He gyrated first one way then another while rooted to the same spot, shaking his hands like maybe they had gone to sleep. The old Arlie had returned.
“I’m sure it will be all right, Arlie. You’re a juvenile. It won’t be a real jail. It will probably be a detention center. In Pensacola maybe. I don’t know.”
“You’ve got to help me. Please. I need someplace to hide until I can make a clean getaway. Just until tomorrow. I need time to think.”
“Arlie, sit down and listen for a minute.” Mom had a way of speaking sometimes that was hard to ignore. Arlie sat back down and listened. “You and Cager go ahead with your camping trip. I’ll work with Henry to see if we can find some way for you not to have to spend any time away from them.” She stood up to go. “So why don’t you two go ahead and set up somewhere back out of view from this side of the river. Way back.” She glanced at me and I nodded that I understood. “Good. You’ll be in Alabama. They have no jurisdiction over there. By the time you get back, we’ll have something worked out. Okay?”
Arlie hugged Mom for a long time. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Fenton. Thank you.”
Mom smoothed his rumpled hair. “It’ll be okay, Arlie.”
I had never known Mom to lie, but there was no way this was going to be okay.
“I guess we better get packed up and out of here then,” I said. “Arlie go hide your bike in the weeds behind the garage. You know. Just in case they come here looking for you.”
***
We trekked north, upriver of our usual crossing. Around a sharp bend well away from the road, we dropped our packs in a sandy area and set up camp. Arlie had perked up a bit at the news Mom was going to work something out. I didn’t say anything to remedy his misconception. As I drove home the last tent peg, Arlie stood looking at the sky’s sickening, yellow cast.
“Looks kind of scary, Cage. Like maybe the world might be ending soon.”
“It’s just smoke in the air. It’ll be gone by morning after the cane fields burn off. Probably means rain, though.”
That reminded me we needed to get ready for the deluge. I showed Arlie how to trench around the tent to carry runoff away from the inside.
“Where’d you learn to do all this, Cage?”
“My dad’s Boy Scout handbook mostly.” I began gathering firewood and throwing it over by the fire pit we had made. “We might want to get our cooking fire started now in case the rain comes early. I don’t want to sit in the tent hungry all night.”
After a dinner of bread twist, canned corn, and fried tuna melt wrapped in flour tortillas we polished off a cup each of Mom’s bread pudding and lay back to watch the sky grow dark. Turkey buzzards wheeled lazily off to the east across the river.
“You think this’ll be all right, Cage? You think your mom can work something out?”
“If anyone can, she can. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“I’m a bad seed, Cage. That’s what the paper said. It’s true too. I helped Daddy bury my own mamma after he killed her. Never told a soul. Not a damn soul.” He shook his head in obvious disgust with himself.
This was all new. “How old were you when that happened?”
“Third grade. I remember pushing dirt into her grave like crazy. To fill the hole up before Daddy pushed me in there too.”
In that moment I understood my coming back had made a difference after all. Arlie was more alone than anyone I had ever known. Aunt Cealie had warned me he had a secret darker even than mine, but I had not imagined Arlie could harbor a fear his own father might bury him alive. Yet he managed to appear so normal - not that Arlie was any exemplar of normal. But Arlie was continuing.
“Mamma had a plan, though. One Daddy never figured out.”
“What plan?”
Arlie snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. He turned toward me, eyes fearful. “Don’t say anything, okay?”
“I won’t. I don’t know anything to say.”
“I go on too much sometimes. I have to stop doing that. I did that when the police were asking me about the fight. I should have just shut up like you told me and I wouldn’t be in this mess. It’s my own making.”
“No it’s not, Arlie. Hartley set up his own death. He was even responsible for Joey running for help and getting… well.” I didn’t want to restate his daddy’s role that day.
“I know, Cage. I’m sorry. I should have told on him. I just didn’t know who to tell. And if they didn’t believe me …. It was a fix. A real fix I was in. But I should have told anyway. I know that now. Too late.”
“You did what you had to, Arlie. And you made it through.” Anything I said beyond that, I realized would never ring true coming from me, Joey’s brother. And I knew Arlie understood that as well. We sat silently for a time watching the fire consume the last of our gathered wood.
“I should have at least told you, Cage. You’re my best friend. Best friends are supposed to tell each other everything aren’t they?”
“I never heard that before but I guess maybe it’s true.” Was Arlie about to tell me something else? Some last secret that would destroy our bond? If he was, I didn’t want to hear it. It didn’t matter now. In a few days we would never see each other again. So, unaware Arlie would not last the evening, I fended him off. “Or maybe some things are just better left unsaid.”
He looked up from the fire to the darkening horizon, his face drawn, his eyes wizened far beyond their tender years. “Yeah. Probably so.”
I went back to the tent and returned with a package of marshmallows and we both ran out into the deepening twilight to find sticks suitable for roasting them over the fire.
A half hour later, night was on us. Another moonless evening of dark clouds and stifling heat. I could smell rain in the air now. It wasn’t far off and we would soon be driven into our tent for the night. I stood up and starting stripping off for a swim. “Come on, Arlie. You up for a cool dip before turning in?”
He sat watching me pile my clothes in the tent in case the rain arrived before we were through swimming. “What the heck,” he shrugged. “Nothing much matters after tonight anyway.”
I was still a few feet from the bank when Arlie shot past me to plunge headlong into the cold water. He came up sputtering and screaming from the shock, his shrill voice echoing hollowly up and down the river. I started to tell him to be quiet in case anyone was looking for us. The thought that McDuff might have made bail by now had crossed my mind. Instead, I stood on the bank and asked rhetorically, “Is it cold?” and received a spray of icy water for my answer.
We eventually swam to the other side and sat on the beach for a while plunking an occasional pebble into the current and listening to night’s little sounds piercing the darkness.
Finally Arlie stood up and waded a few feet out into the river. “What’s Perdido mean, Cage? I always wondered where that name came from.”
“It’s Spanish. They named the river. It means lost.”
Arlie turned back toward me, his indistinct silhouette coalescing with the dark currents behind him leaving only a disembodied voice. “Lost?” He snorted out a short laugh. “That’s me, Cage. I’m so lost. And here I’ve lived on the Lost River my whole life and never knew it.”
I was about to offer a word of encouragement, but the first spattering of rain beat down on us only to relent a few seconds later.
“Better get back in the river before we get wet,” Arlie said diving headlong into the dark waters.
We were mid-stream when the first lightning bolt seared a tall pine a few hundred yards away. The pine needles flared into a fireball in the tree’s upper reaches then quickly fell dark as heavy rain slaked the crackling flames. The acrid smell of ozone now permeated the air as bullet-sized raindrops pummeled our heads. We pushed hard for the opposite bank.
I was halfway back to the tent when it came. An, “Oomph.” Arlie had stumbled and fallen in the darkness. As I turned to wait for him in case he got disoriented and ran off in the wrong direction, a sheet of lightning lit the beach freezing everything like a black and white photograph out of Life Magazine. Arlie was just pushing up from his fall, hands out in front in case he tripped again. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Then the imploding darkness extinguished the image. Seconds passed before a third bolt, almost simultaneous with the crash of thunder, recaptured the scene. Arlie was ten feet away and running toward me full tilt. The collision bowled me over. Arlie lay sprawled on top for a second before I found my voice.
“What the hell, Arlie.” I struggled to my feet as another searing flash flooded the beach in a blue-white radiance. Arlie was coiling up into a sitting position.
Just as dark cyphers running deep within the glider’s time-battered hull had begotten Ell, so had Arlie’s life of trauma spawned this new creature washed clean of its sin in the chill rain. Under a flickering riff of chain lightning, it looked up at me.
A Gift of Time Page 15