Saints+Sinners

by Saints

  On the other end of town, the tire shop’s lot was empty, the Beetle safe inside and presumably fixed. The same duo of mechanics milled out front, each drinking from a beer bottle. They were staring long before he came into focus. “Is my car ready?” Danny blurted out and they pointed towards the office. Kyle was not there.

  The receptionist closed her paperback and plucked her glass off. “Glad you made it,” she said with a half-yawn. From under the counter, she withdrew a clipboard with his keys attached. “Your total is at the bottom. Please sign here. Cash or credit?” Her voice sounded like an automated machine.

  “My friend is supposed to pay for this,” Danny said. “Do you know where he is?”

  The woman made a point of peering over the counter and inspecting the empty waiting room. Half of the chairs were folded up against the far wall. “Nope, can’t say that I do.”

  Danny held his breath, half-expecting Kyle to jump out of some hiding spot and yell, “Surprise!” Nothing happened. He stood there with a blank stare and the desk clerk smiled presumptuously because it was his turn to speak. All the gears in his head quit turning and restarted themselves. “I’ll be right back,” Danny stammered.

  “Sure thing. I’ll be here all night.”

  He returned outside. The wind had picked up. He called Kyle’s phone and this time it went straight to voicemail. He peered around the building. The mechanics rose from their seats, emitting a string of curses as a minivan wobbled in on another deflated tire. A family of four crawled out, looking tired and disheveled.

  And then, there he was: the mechanic from earlier, the one with the ponytail. “Hey. Have you seen my friend?” he asked.

  The man turned to him with a blank expression and then shrugged before turning back to measure the tire.

  “Hey! The guy I came here with. You were talking with him earlier. Where is he?”

  The other workers let out a snort, nudged each other. One of the mechanics mimicked Danny’s voice with a coarse falsetto. “Where is he? Where is he?”

  “Dude, I don’t know who you’re talking about,” the mechanic said. At first, he seemed annoyed, but then stood with a sense of bravado, as if he decided to appear intimidating. “Let me do my work.”

  There was a tense silence. The family scurried inside to the front office, glancing back over their shoulder, and Danny worried he was making a scene. He backed away slowly and dialed Kyle’s phone, again cutting directly to voicemail. All the mechanics seemed to ignore him and yet eyed him fiercely.

  Back inside, the temperature had dropped a few degrees. The clerk was setting up a space heater when Danny barged in and she scampered back behind the partition. “Are you alright?” she asked, though her voice was flat and uncaring.

  “No, I’m not. My friend is missing. He was here with me earlier and now he’s vanished.” His voice was surprisingly loud. The family flinched and the woman took a defensive stance, both hands buried from view behind the counter. Someone else shuffled around behind her in the back office. Danny dialed Kyle’s number again, this time speaking loudly enough for the whole room. “Kyle, it’s Danny. It’s time to go. If you don’t call me back soon, I’m calling the police.” He hung up, thinking of the ridiculous message. If the police did show up, what would he tell them? There was nothing right about this trip at all. He had no business being there.

  From the back office, the manager emerged. He was a pot-bellied man with a trimmed white beard, skin coarse and scarred from years of harsh weather. While the clerk openly scowled, his face was calm, almost paternal. Despite his grim complexion, his eyes were deeply penetrating and intelligent.

  “Son, you’re making a lot of noise out here,” he said. He had wandered out into the center of the waiting area, pulling up one of the folded chairs. “Sit down here,” he said. There was a subtle violence to his tone, one that was felt but not heard. Everyone was looking at him now: the manager, the clerk, the family of four. He felt his face burn red, but did as he was told. “Alright,” the manager continued. “Now, what’s going on?”

  Danny gripped the edge of his seat. His foot dug into the layer of dirt on the floor. Within a few swift motions, his shoe scraped against raw wood underneath. The lady behind the counter cleared her throat but he kept staring down at his feet. While his mind flooded with everything that needed explaining, his voice had dried up. After a few moments of frustrated rambling, he managed to say that he’d been trying to contact Kyle for hours, that Kyle had wandered off with one of the workers, that he wasn’t answering his phone and that Danny was scared because it was getting late and he wanted to go home. The family edged their way to the door, braving the cold outside. He didn’t want them to leave.

  “Mary, would you please bring Zack in here?” the manager asked and the woman left the waiting room. “Do we need to call somebody for you? Your parents, maybe?” Danny told him that wasn’t necessary and then lied and said he already had. The clerk, Mary, returned with the man with the ponytail. His coat was different, no more ugly green fatigues, but now a brown bomber jacket. He held a socket wrench. “Zack, we have some things to talk about,” and the manager recounted Danny’s story in a concise manner.

  “Oh that kid was talking to me during my smoke break,” the mechanic said. “Asked me a whole bunch of questions and then wandered off. Haven’t seen him since.”

  “That’s not what you said outside,” Danny snapped.

  “Be quiet!” the manager yelled and Danny tensed up in his seat. Then, the old man turned soft again. “Now son, obviously Zack here doesn’t know where your friend is. I know you’re upset, but I’m not sure what you want us to do. Is there someone we can call?

  He sat quiet for a moment. “Call the police. Something’s happened to him.” He willed his voice into a calm sound and then flushed, wondering how ridiculous he sounded. And then he remembered the backpack, all of Vince’s party favors.

  The mechanic let out a low mean chuckle. “Get back to work,” the manager snapped and Zack moved back into the garage. “Alright now, if that’s what you want to do, then we can do that. But it’s getting dark out. I’m sure your friend will be back at any minute.”

  Danny nodded. “I think I can wait a little longer.”

  The manager smiled lightly. “Alright. Now, in other matters, your car is ready. And we need payment and you’re making a scene and disrupting my workers and bothering my customers.” Danny peered back at the entranceway, knowing full well the family was lurking outside in the cold. “No, no, no—eyes on me,” the manager continued. “It’s getting late and we should be closing up soon.”

  “But, I can’t leave without Kyle.”

  “I know. But right now, we have performed a service for you and you are past due on payment. Now if Kyle ran off with all your money, then yes, I think we should call the deputy down here right away.”

  Danny tensed up. He had cash and a credit card. And once he paid, he’d be expected to leave. “That won’t be a problem. I can pay up right now.”

  The manager smiled and called him a good boy. Behind them, the woman returned to her register, her ill-fitted boredom resumed. She printed off a bill and he handed her his check card without even looking at it. He exhaled a long sigh of relief when the receipt printed without any further delay.

  Once again, the manager hovered over him. “Now that’s settled, if you want to go looking for your friend, maybe Zack would be willing to show you around. You’d have to ask nicely though.”

  Danny squeezed his car key in his hand. It felt warm, like a magic ward against evil. “I’m not going anywhere with that man.”

  “Fair enough.” The manager patted his shoulder before turning to the clerk. “Mary, why don’t you call Vera down at the gas pumps and see if she’ll put him up for a bit. Maybe Kyle is down there waiting for you right now. Probably thought he could get out of paying that way.”

  Mary got on the phone and kept her voice low. After a few minutes, she gave an assertive nod.<
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  “You see, everything’s going to work out just fine. You have a warm place to hang out a bit. We’ll be here another hour or so. If Kyle shows up, I’ll make sure he calls you. He has your number, right?”

  “Yes.” In that moment, Danny felt like a child, an admonished child, one who had behaved very badly.

  The manager led him into the garage, following close behind, a hand gently hovering on his shoulder as if to steer him in the right direction. The Beetle was in full view, the new tire practically glimmered. The receipt guaranteed it for twelve months. When he sat down, he locked the doors, the entire staff all on the outside with their tools, looking in at him.

  It was dark outside. Danny’s foot pressed down on the accelerator which caused him to skid recklessly through puddle after puddle. Almost all of the houses were lit, but with the shades drawn over every window. As he reached the gas station, he almost forgot to stop, hitting his breaks hard enough to prevent him from crashing into the pumps.

  Vera was waiting, poised in the doorway. He rolled down the window and she called out, “Honey, what’s wrong? It sounds like pandemonium down there.”

  “Is Kyle here? Have you seen him?” he called out. She shook her head. “I need to gas up real fast,” he said.

  Vera gave him a pleasant smile. “Sure thing, honey. I’ll turn on the pump and then you come inside. I’ve got a fresh pot brewing.”

  Danny flicked his check card in and out of the slot and started fueling. Again, he called Kyle’s phone and it went straight to voice mail. For a moment, he imagined him sitting in one of the diner booths, eating peach cobbler out of a dish with ice cream, a fresh Parliament dangling from his lips while a roll of cash burned a hole in his pocket. Then, he imagined Kyle wandering back up to the tire shop, stoned out of his mind, another terrible scene with the manager would happen. No matter what, even if Kyle did suddenly call, he wasn’t going back there for him. Kyle would have to walk and meet him at the diner. The gas pump dinged and the receipt spit out. Danny glanced up and there was Vera’s silhouette, almost hidden through the gas station’s window. Two fingers were separating the blinds enough so she could peer out. And when Danny caught her, they closed again.

  He got back on the highway, where the evening was changing into an endless sea of dark, where the white lane dashes on the road became a string of waves. He thought he’d pull off at the very next exit, but didn’t. He was set on Proctor, where Vince was probably tapping his foot impatiently. Danny would tell him about the town and the tire shop and insist they go back in the morning. One thing was certain. Kyle had been correct, the wheel was perfectly fine.

  A short time later, his headlights caught two shapes dashing across the highway: a deer in close pursuit of a fox. The deer made dangerous leaps, as if aiming its hooves for the center of the fox’s back. The Beetle swerved onto the shoulder lane, though the animals were too far away for a collision. The curve in the road looked familiar, and though it was unlikely, Danny wondered if this was the very spot they had originally stopped, where all their troubles began and he felt the grief of it linger about like a fog. But his eyes were still scanning out past where the headlights could reach, trying to see if the fox had made it to the safety of the brush. They were like ghosts, a quick flash of movement and color, and then both animals had been lost to the darkness.

  Come back.

  Runner-up

  Omaha

  Michael H. Ward

  Pat Kelly, standing paralyzed on the empty street corner, was willing himself to cross when a carload of teenagers, careening past the stoplight, spit at him and screamed, “Cocksucker!” It was Saturday night, late July 1963, stiflingly hot and humid, even at eleven o’clock. Pat had been trying all summer to make himself walk into the Ron D Voo Lounge, a sleazy bar tucked into the corner of the old Regis Hotel. With no cars in sight, he thought, “God help me,” and ran across the street, ducking into the entryway beneath the pulsing neon champagne glass.

  Inside, men were packed together in a dense cloud of cigarette smoke. The bar was small and the air smelled faintly sour, like a locker room. Older men, younger men, men dressed as women. An obese black man in a bright orange caftan and blond wig sat at a piano surrounded by patrons singing show tunes. Above him hung a glittering silver banner: “Tiny Cherokee—LIVE!” Shouted conversations competed with an enthusiastic chorus singing “Oklahoma!” The noise, jostling, and laughter made it feel like a circus. Pat wanted to run but a burly man in a plaid shirt shouted, “Don’t block the door, honey. Fire laws!” and pulled him into the melee. He saw a small open space in the far corner by the fire exit and threaded his way toward it. Pressed against the wall, he struggled to breathe normally and appear relaxed. He was terrified that he’d be discovered to be underage, or worse, that he would be recognized, easily identified by his copper-colored hair and the deep dimple on his chin. His height and broad shoulders made it hard to disappear into the crowd.

  As if by magic, a young man materialized from the crush and handed him a cold bottle of Budweiser. Smiling, he squeezed in next to Pat and said, “You look terrified. At least pretend you’re having fun.”

  Pat was speechless. He had fantasized about this moment hundreds of times, and here was his dream guy: a little shorter than himself, olive skin, dark eyes, a black crewcut. Pat’s heart gave a little lurch. He nodded his thanks and smiled.

  “I’m Lenny,” the man said. “You?”

  “Padraic,” he replied, fumbling in his shirt pocket for a cigarette. “My friends call me Pat.”

  Lenny smiled and, bringing his lips close to Pat’s ear, said, “Very happy to meet you, Pat.”

  They tried to make small talk, but it was nearly impossible to hear. After a few moments Lenny got them a second beer and, moving in front of Pat, pressed back into his body, laughing at Tiny Cherokee’s antics at the piano. Pat wanted to rest his chin on Lenny’s head but felt self-conscious. He hoped Lenny couldn’t feel his erection against his butt. He was embarrassed by how powerless he was to control his body’s response to Lenny’s proximity and the saturating heat of the bar. Next to them a drunken drag queen, teetering on impossibly high heels, fell heavily against the man in front of her, who started cursing and shoving. Lenny grabbed Pat by the arm and yelled, “Let’s get out of here!”

  The cool air and the quiet of the city at night were a welcome relief. Pat suddenly felt shy, wondering what to say to this good-looking stranger. Lenny released Pat’s arm and suggested they get something to eat. The streets were nearly deserted as they walked the four blocks to the Greyhound bus station, the only place left open. Pat asked if the bar was always so crowded and rowdy.

  “A couple of weekends ago,” Lenny said, “two drag queens got into a hair pulling contest. In minutes wigs were flying in all directions. Miss Cherokee climbed up on her piano bench and screamed, ‘Throw those bitches out! I’m the only diva here, and I’m in the middle of my set!’”

  Pat laughed, enjoying watching Lenny’s face as he talked, struck by how much he looked like one of his coworkers at the Coca Cola plant. There was nothing that seemed gay about him except what he was talking about. He was so at ease.

  The waiting area in the bus station was seedy, people sleeping on wooden benches or sitting huddled with their luggage, waiting for early morning transportation to Rapid City or Des Moines. Pat and Lenny took stools at the counter in the diner, which was empty except for an elderly woman dozing in a booth in the corner. The short order cook came out from the kitchen. “Gentlemen!” he said, looking speculatively from one to the other. Lenny sat back on the stool and said, “Popular spot at this time of night, huh?”

  The cook smiled. “Best time for me. The drunks haven’t come in yet and the whores are out looking for business.” Without looking at Pat, Lenny said, “My buddy and I’ll have bacon and eggs. And coffee.” Pat liked the way Lenny took charge.

  “Okey dokey,” the cook replied and set out paper napkins, silverware, and glasses of water
before returning to the kitchen. To fill the silence Pat began talking rapidly, about his family, his summer job loading trucks at Coca Cola, his hopes of escaping the Midwest when he graduated from college. After several minutes he was breathless and stopped as suddenly as he had begun.

  Lenny just continued to smile.

  Taking a sip of water, Pat spilled a little down his chin and wiped it off with the back of his hand.

  “You OK?” Lenny asked. “You seem a little nervous.”

  Pat thought he was probably teasing but the question did little to calm him down. “Enough about me. Tell me about you.”

  “I was an army brat, born in Texas, raised on bases in Germany and Okinawa.” The cook brought out two mugs of coffee and Lenny stirred in milk. “I joined the Air Force just out of high school. I’m a Sergeant First Class with the glorious Strategic Air Command in Bellvue.” He said this with a little smile and Pat couldn’t tell if he was proud of it or making fun.

  “What about your family?” Pat asked.

  “Mother and father, two younger sibs, Greek and Italian background, all in Montana now.” He took a sip of coffee and looked at Pat appraisingly. “You’re Irish, right?”

  Pat laughed. “It’s hard to miss this hair.”

  Lenny said, “And the freckles and the blue eyes.” After glancing around the room, he reached out and briefly touched Pat’s chin. “And that dimple gives me a hard on.”

  Lenny’s touch was a shock, so intimate. The cook came through the swinging doors and set their plates down on the counter, and the men straightened up. Pat realized he was having fun, and he wished he could laugh out loud, make some noise to get the tension out of his neck and shoulders. They set upon their bacon and eggs and ate in silence. Pat noticed the rumbling of a motor as a Greyhound pulled into the bay near the waiting room.