Creatures of Want and Ruin

by Molly Tanzer

“Desperate.” Jones looked at her appraisingly. “And now?”

  “Now I’m not desperate anymore.”

  “All right,” said Jones. “But if it happens again . . .”

  “It won’t.”

  “Good. I don’t want to get nervous when I drink up your profits. Speaking of . . .”

  “I know for sure this one’s fine,” said Ellie, handing over a bottle.

  They’d reached his truck and were now standing in the shade cast by its cab, Cleo panting by Jones’s feet. Jones tucked his take behind his back seat.

  “Glad to see you’re healing up,” he said after turning back to her. “No fresh bruises?”

  “Nah.”

  “So things are all right at home?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” She noted his increased interest, and specified, “Between me and Gabriel, sure . . . but as for my ma and my pop . . .” She sighed.

  “Go on then. Tell me what happened.”

  “We had a fight. And . . .” She swallowed her pride. “I need your help.”

  “Oh?”

  “More specifically, I need your truck.”

  “Typical.”

  “I’m moving out. Lester and I both are, actually, so there’ll be a few boxes.”

  “When?”

  “Sunday: I thought that would be the best time for it. My old man will be out of the house.”

  “Doesn’t that Polack of yours have a pickup?”

  “Don’t call him a Polack,” snapped Ellie.

  Jones grinned at her. “Is that a way to talk to a man when you’re asking to borrow his truck?”

  Ellie wouldn’t back down. “There’s enough of that sort of talk going around without you joining in. My pop called Gabriel a ‘foreigner’ yesterday. Said I should break off the engagement and start living right.”

  Jones looked taken aback. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know, obviously, or I wouldn’t have teased you.”

  Ellie nodded. “I know. It’s just a lot. His new pal Hunter has him saying some pretty appalling stuff, I think. And Hunter’s not stopping with him—he’s speaking to a crowd on Sunday. That’s why I know my old man will be out of the house.”

  “Hunter?”

  “The Reverend Joseph Hunter. Don’t ask me where he preaches; I don’t think he does.” She frowned. “I don’t like that man. That scene last night . . . I think he had something to do with it. Pop was cross at me over the bootlegging fiasco, but then he said some really horrible and insulting things about immigrants like Gabriel not being Americans and . . .” She saw the look on Jones’s face. “What?”

  “I’m more of an immigrant than your fiancé! I was born in Cuba, you know.” Ellie was amazed—Jones sounded like any other Long Islander. “It’s true. My father served in the war, and he married a Cuban woman. She died when I was little, and we moved back here.”

  “Oh, well, I . . .” Ellie didn’t know what to say. The knowledge didn’t bother her; it just surprised her. Jones had never talked about his parents to her; then again, he’d had no reason to.

  “It’s no problem. Sounds like it got very personal last night, and I’m . . . not personal.”

  She wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, beyond “Thank you for understanding.”

  “I do. And I’ll do you this favor . . . on one condition.”

  Ellie smiled in spite of herself. “Oh? What’s the condition?”

  He leaned in close to her, his lips almost brushing her earlobe. She shivered, and wondered if she’d been right—if he was interested in her, and the strange tension between them hadn’t been just her imagination.

  “I want you . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “. . . to tell me everything you know about Hunter making speeches in some field.”

  Ellie tried not to register either surprise or disappointment. “Sure, but I don’t know much. Why?”

  “Because I want to go.”

  “Oh!” Ellie frowned. “But I’d hoped you’d help me move while he was out of the house for it . . .”

  “How long could that possibly take? A few crates—you need crates?” Ellie nodded. “Fine, we’ve got plenty around here. How much furniture are you taking?”

  “Next to none. Lester has plenty of books, though.”

  “That’s no problem. We’ll get it all and then head to the event. I just want to see what it’s all about, given the climate around here of late.”

  Recalling what he’d said about the attacks on immigrants, Ellie felt her stomach tighten. “You don’t think Hunter is involved with any of that, do you?”

  Jones shrugged. “I know you want to hear me say ‘of course not,’ but I don’t know. That’s why I want to hear what he has to say.”

  Ellie nodded, seeing the wisdom of this—though she did wish he’d said “of course not.” The idea that her father might be mixed up with a group that attacked and killed people, that attacked and terrorized children . . .

  “All right,” she said. “We’ll go.”

  “What time?”

  Ellie thought back. “He only said morning.”

  “Probably between ten and eleven. Why don’t you meet me here at half past nine? We can head over to your folks’ place and wait until they’re gone.”

  “Won’t they see us?”

  Again, that eyebrow. “I’m a cop,” he said patiently. “I can watch your house without being seen.”

  “Oh . . . right.”

  Jones climbed into the cab of his truck, and Cleo jumped in after him. “All right. See you then.”

  The engine roared to life, and Jones rattled away. It was only after Ellie had walked halfway across town, slapping at the mosquitoes that were taking advantage of the still evening air, that she realized he might have given her a lift.

  Gabriel had cooked dinner while she was out—some sort of tasty fish soup with cabbage and carrots. She and Lester did the dishes. As she washed and he wiped, her brother noticed her humming, and remarked that she seemed happy.

  “Relieved maybe. Are you happy? I mean . . . I know you didn’t want to come here . . .”

  “It’s all right. It was time to go.” He kept wiping a dish that was already quite dry, and Ellie felt he wasn’t saying what was really on his mind. Rather than press him, she waited. “I suppose I’ll be leaving for good before too long anyhow.”

  “Not for good. You’ll come home to visit, of course.”

  “Home.”

  Ellie wiped her hands on a towel and embraced her brother. “Wherever that is, whatever it means to you. I just want to be there.”

  “Of course you’ll be there!”

  The sounds of Gabriel’s wireless drifted into the kitchen. Lester enjoyed listening to it, but when Gabriel came in to see if they might like to hear a jazz program, her brother elected to go upstairs.

  “Are you sure?” said Ellie. She was worried he was leaving them alone because that’s what he thought they wanted; really, she would have enjoyed his company—treasured it, knowing she’d have so much less of it in the near future.

  “Come on; you’ll have plenty of time to study once you get there,” urged Gabriel, but Lester would not relent. He excused himself and shut the door to the second bedroom behind him.

  “Proud creature,” said Ellie with a sigh. “I wonder where he gets it?”

  “Hmm,” said Gabriel, drawing her into the living room.

  Unhappy as Ellie was about her new estrangement from her family, snuggling with Gabriel on the sofa in their living room—the living room where they would live together as husband and wife—was really very nice. The space, though half-finished, already felt homey. This really would be such a nice house, with its strong walls, small private dock, well water, and garden plot. They would live happily here.

  The ever-burning embers of desire for Gabriel flared up within Ellie, fierce and hot. She was just thinking of snaking her hand across his flat belly to unbutton his fly when the program playing on the wireless ende
d.

  “The next one is pretty good, too,” said Gabriel, surprising her. “Want to stay up and listen? We can sleep in tomorrow.”

  “That’s true . . .”

  “And Saturday morning,” he said warmly, “and Sunday . . .”

  “Oh, not Sunday,” said Ellie. “I’ll need to head in to town pretty early.”

  “For what?”

  “I’m meeting Jones. He’s going to help me move while Pop’s at that stupid speech Hunter’s giving.” Ellie was just about to add that they’d peek at the speech afterward, given Jones’s worries about Hunter, when she noticed Gabriel’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  “That cop is helping you move?”

  “That cop?”

  Gabriel was really annoyed. “Why did you ask him for help?”

  “He has a pickup,” she said, a half-truth to save his feelings.

  “I have a pickup, too, and I doubt Aaron will need it on Sunday. I could have helped you.”

  “I know you could have, but there’s no reason for you to,” she said.

  “No reason!”

  Confused, Ellie sat up to meet her fiancé’s eyes. “What’s going on?” she said. “Why are you angry?”

  “I’m not angry, I’m just . . .” Gabriel resettled his thick glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Ellie, we’re going to be married. We’re supposed to be a team. You could let me support you.”

  “You do support me.” Ellie was amazed. “Why would you think otherwise? Here I am, living in your house—”

  “Our house!”

  “Okay, our house. All I meant to say was that I was living here a bit ahead of schedule, and with my brother,” she whispered this so Lester would not hear and think she meant something other than what she did, “and you have been nothing but kind about it.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Ellie felt a flash of annoyance. “I never thought you wouldn’t, but not everyone would be so generous or so accepting. I’m complimenting you.”

  He relaxed at this, but only a little, and he still looked troubled. “I still would have liked to know you were planning this,” he said.

  “All right, that’s fair,” said Ellie. “I’m sorry, Gabe. I just didn’t in a million years think it would upset you. All I was thinking about was sparing you from more abuse if something goes wrong and Pop happens to be home.”

  Gabriel relaxed further. “I appreciate that, but I’d rather you’d have talked to me about it than just decided on your own.”

  “I understand. So, in the interest of total transparency, Jones and I were planning to load up his pickup and then go take a gander at whatever Hunter’s up to. After, you can help me and Lester move in—into our home.”

  Gabriel wasn’t as mollified by this as she would have liked, but he accepted it with reasonable grace. By then, the radio drama he’d wanted to listen to was starting. Ellie proposed that instead, they go to bed, hoping she could still tempt him to do something there other than sleep.

  “You go on, if you’re tired,” he said. “I’d like to listen to this.”

  “Of course,” she said lightly, though in truth she felt disquieted. She’d not yet gone to bed on her own in this house—their house—and this didn’t seem like the best first time to do that. Indeed, the room seemed too empty without him; the bed, too large. She wondered if she’d have trouble nodding off without him there, but she was so exhausted she fell asleep quickly between the cool sheets.

  Because of the funny placement of the little saltbox, it was actually more efficient for Ellie to take her skiff to the boatyard and walk from there to the police station. As she tied up, she noticed the usual gang of regulars were clustered by the lee side of the boathouse, staring at something. One of them, Ephraim, had a hose and was spraying down the hands of a man named Matthew. Curious, Ellie wandered over.

  “Ever seen anything like it?” asked Fred as she approached.

  Ellie was less than pleased to see more of the oily-looking dark fungal growths clustered in the shade of the boathouse. An effort had been made to dislodge them; a trowel lay abandoned, off to the side, covered in the same foul residue that had coated Ellie’s father’s paper the other night, and a huge smear soiled the side of the boathouse. It looked like the fungus had exploded, and the smell of kerosene lingered in the air.

  “Yeah,” said Ellie, as her stomach turned over. “Nasty stuff.”

  “I heard one of ’em pop,” said Fred. “Matthew said it felt like the juice was burning him, almost.”

  “Still does,” said Matthew as water splashed over his hands. His trousers, too, bore the stains. A shame—it looked like he was already dressed for church.

  “Maybe I should piss on you? Might help,” said Ephraim.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t! Vinegar might not be a bad idea, though,” said Matthew. “Damn. It’s on my pants. I’ll have to go back home to change, and it’s a drive to Paul’s farm.”

  “For that meeting?” asked Fred. “Why are you going to that?”

  “Why aren’t you?” countered Matthew.

  “Sunday is for church,” said Fred stoutly. “I’m a Methodist.”

  “Methodists are welcome,” said Matthew.

  “You said you’ve seen these things before? Where was that?” Ephraim asked Ellie as the two men began to bicker.

  “At my folks’ place, in the back yard. Gabriel’s seen them too, in his—our—yard. He says fungicide works okay on them.”

  “Good to know.”

  With that, Ellie took her leave of them. Her business in town couldn’t wait any longer.

  Jones was waiting for her at the police station, leaning back against his pickup. Instead of his uniform, he was wearing plain clothes. Ellie couldn’t help but let her gaze linger on how he looked in them, especially the crease of his trousers as it pulled across his thigh.

  He noticed her staring, and grinned. “Considering raiding my wardrobe?” he asked, glancing at her coveralls, with the loose button-down beneath. “Just be aware, if you’re thinking of stealing anything, I still write my name in the waistbands and collars.”

  “You walk around all day with OFFICER JONES printed on your underwear, huh? More than I needed to know.” Ellie walked around the side of his truck and clambered in as he stammered a few abortive replies.

  “You coming?” she called out the window as she scratched Cleo behind her pointy brown ears, much to the dog’s delight.

  Jones looked vaguely annoyed as he climbed in beside them, but as they drew nearer Ellie’s home—or, rather, former home—the officer’s spirits seemed to lift as her own sank. It felt wrong to abscond like a thief with what was rightfully hers.

  “I’m going to park a bit up the street, and go knock on the door,” said Jones, making Ellie jump in her seat—she’d been mentally far away from her present situation, even if she’d been thinking hard about it. “If no one’s home, we’re clear. If someone answers, I’ll just say I was looking for you.”

  “Good plan,” said Ellie.

  No one answered his summons, so Ellie let them in, and in surprisingly few trips they had everything down the stairs and on the front lawn.

  Jones took over when it was time to load up his pickup. “My father was a longshoreman after he got out of the navy,” he said. “I was watching him pack things securely before I could walk.”

  “I can’t believe there isn’t more,” she said softly, watching as Jones tied it all up with a few efficient knots. Cleo watched too; her eyes never left her master. “Our whole life, Lester and me . . . Here it is, and it all fits in your truck.” She looked it over. “But probably not in my skiff. Damn.”

  “I can always drop you off.”

  “No . . . I think I’d rather go home alone tonight,” she said.

  Jones looked amused, but didn’t argue. “How about I bring what you can’t take Monday or Tuesday?”

  “You’re very kind, thank you,” said Ellie, her face going red as tears she wouldn�
�t let fall gathered behind her eyes. She was embarrassed by this display of emotion, but Jones didn’t tease her; he put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. Surprised, Ellie stiffened at his touch, and he pulled his hand away immediately, breaking their brief connection.

  “It’s after ten,” he said gruffly. “Better get going to this what-have-you in the field.”

  She didn’t know how to tell him that she’d been taken aback by his affection, not disgusted by it, so she just said, “Good idea.”

  They didn’t speak much as they rattled their way to the outskirts of town, both lost in their own thoughts. Cleo sat between them, her tongue lolling, just enjoying the ride.

  At least someone was happy.

  They turned down the lane that would take them to Paul Edwards’ place. There were a surprising number of automobiles parked already, and an even larger gathering of people beyond that. The crowd spilled out from under the edges of a large canvas tent; there were hundreds of people in attendance, all staring at a sort of stage in the distance, and the air, already thick with humidity and loud with insects and birdsong, seemed to tremble or hum with an angry energy, like a beehive before a swarm.

  “Jesus Christ.” Ellie was shocked, but the sudden drop in her clientele actually made some sense now. Clearly, Hunter’s ideas were resonating with the residents of Amityville—and beyond, given the breadth of the crowd. “Look at them all.”

  “I wish I was surprised.”

  Ellie was intrigued by the bitterness in his voice. It had never occurred to her that Jones might have had a different experience of living in Amityville than she did, but clearly he had.

  “Do you think it’s safe?” she asked, and then felt like a coward. Thankfully, Jones didn’t make any arch remarks.

  “We’ll keep to the back. A few other people are ambling up late, see? We won’t be noticed.”

  Ellie wasn’t sure about all that, especially since they had a dog with them. Jones plunked his hat down on her head. The band was sweaty, and it was too large for her. She peered at him from under the brim.

  “Wear that,” he said, “and no one will think you’re anyone’s daughter. As for me, well, I just have to show my face and hope everyone feels I’ve a right to be here. As usual.”