Kings of Ruin

by Sam Cameron

  “Nothing.” Danny pulled his sleeve down. “Played too much guitar last night.”

  Gary wrinkled his nose, skeptical, but didn’t argue over it.

  The crowd slowed and things got a little easier. Danny was thinking of taking a break to go talk to Laura when a tall teen with shaggy blond hair came in. He was Danny’s age or maybe a little older, but not by much. He was wearing a black leather jacket.

  Danny had a definite weakness for black leather jackets.

  “What can I get you?” Danny asked.

  The kid scanned the overhead board quickly. “Two roast beef on wheat, American cheese, mustard, and tomato.”

  Danny pulled on new plastic gloves and started making the order. Under the jacket, the kid was wearing a white T-shirt that read “FOREVER 27.” Danny bet most people didn’t know what the slogan meant.

  “Brian Jones,” he said.

  The kid gave him an appraising look. “Blind Owl Wilson.”

  “Jimi Hendrix.”

  Gary squinted at the two of them. “What are you two talking about?”

  “Janice Joplin,” the kid replied.

  Danny said, “Club Twenty-seven is a bunch of famous musicians or singers who died when they were twenty-seven years old. Starting with Brian Jones, one of the founders of The Rolling Stones. Including Kurt Cobain and Jim Morrison.”

  “Never heard of them,” Gary said.

  Danny dismissed him and focused on the stranger. “Not from around here, are you?”

  “Nevada. You?”

  “California.”

  So they were two Westerners stranded in Hicksville. Danny reached for the mustard and squeezed out a generous amount. “Moving here?” he asked, trying to sound casual about it.

  “Passing through.”

  Laura must have been watching them. She came up to the counter and asked sweetly, “So, Danny, change your mind about tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?” Danny asked blankly.

  “Country Harvest. You don’t have to like the singers, you know. There’s a fairway and rides and lots of free stuff the record companies give away.”

  The stranger arched an eyebrow. Danny could practically hear him thinking Country Harvest?

  “No,” Danny said to Laura. “I still have to work.”

  Laura gave a little pout. “But it’s your birthday. Maybe you could get off early.”

  Danny started to wrap up the sandwiches. “You want a pickle with these?”

  The stranger asked, “Just one?”

  “One each,” he said. “Free. Kosher.”

  “Well, if they’re kosher.” He appeared to be pondering the momentous decision. “Sure. Only because it’s your birthday tomorrow.”

  Danny had the distinct impression the stranger was flirting with him. Which was such a novel experience that he almost sliced his finger open on a cutting knife. He didn’t like it—no, he couldn’t, because he had a cover to maintain—but then again, it was kind of nice, and he did look good in that leather jacket.

  Laura turned and snapped, “What does kosher have to do with his birthday?”

  “Wow,” Gary said from behind Danny. “Catfight!”

  Danny quickly moved to the register and rang up the order.

  “You’re not from around here,” Laura said to the kid. “You should go back to wherever.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” he said dryly.

  Laura looked to Danny, but he didn’t know what to say. She said, “Fine. Don’t come if you don’t want to, Danny.”

  She turned on her heel and stormed out, her leather boots clicking as she went. Alice, startled, had to hurry out of the booth to catch up with her. Danny was confused. How was this his fault? But he didn’t try to go after her.

  “Girlfriend?” the kid asked.

  “Sort of,” Danny said. “That’ll be nine dollars.”

  He handed over a twenty-dollar bill. “What’s Country Harvest?”

  “It’s a music concert,” Danny said.

  Zinc, who was slicing cheese, said, “Don’t play it down. Big time stars get together at the fairgrounds all weekend, all to benefit charity. It started yesterday. There’s going to be fifteen, twenty thousand people there.”

  “All country music,” Danny said.

  Zinc laughed. “Don’t say it like it’s a disease, hon.”

  The kid’s phone rang. He turned to answer it, shielding it from view, but Danny caught a glimpse anyway: large and square and ugly.

  “Keep the change,” the kid said hurriedly, and left before Danny could say anything.

  He knew that phone. It was the same kind the mysterious motorcycle rider had used to zap MUZKBUX.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I’ve got to go talk to that guy,” Danny said to Gary and Zinc. He pulled off his apron and shoved it into the corner. “I’ll be right back.”

  He hurried out of the sandwich shop. The cool afternoon air cut through his shirt as he scanned the cars in the parking lot. But the stranger was on foot, not in a car. He was crossing the far corner of the lot and heading toward another bunch of shops in Piedmont’s bustling downtown area.

  Shivering, Danny went back inside. Gary was filling the sweet tea thermos, and Zinc was wiping down the booth where Alice and Laura had been sitting.

  Zinc gave him an appraising look. “Why’d you lie about working tomorrow?”

  He wished she hadn’t heard that. “It’s no big deal.”

  “It’s a big deal when you lie, Danny,” she said. “Especially with that girl, who’s never done you wrong. If you’re interested in someone else, that’s one thing. But don’t make up excuses. You tell her to her face.”

  From the counter, Gary said, “Tell that to my last girlfriend. She broke up with me by sending me a text message.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” Zinc said.

  “I’ll tell her the truth,” Danny promised. “Can I take my lunch break now? I’ll be back in a half hour.”

  “Okay, but don’t be late. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  He grabbed his jacket, and on second thought, grabbed his backpack as well. Quickly, he bicycled after Kevin, who was turning down a side street. The street dead-ended into a junkyard fronted by a two-story brick garage. Stacked around the garage was a sprawling maze of broken, abandoned cars. Danny thought it was kind of sad, all those cars that had once been cared for, but now left to rot and rust under the sun or snow.

  There, for instance. A solid black Ford Buick, twenty years or so old, smashed up so badly that its front end looked like large metal spaghetti. Behind it was a green Chevy Cavalier that looked almost drivable, except all the doors had been torn off. Every car has a story, he thought. That sounded like the start of a song. He told himself to remember it later.

  Unlike most other cars he’d seen that morning, the black Buick really was black and the green Chevy really was green. In fact, almost all the cars in the junkyard were the colors they were supposed to be. Whatever was wrong with his eyes, it wasn’t wrong right now.

  He didn’t see where Kevin had gone, so he parked his bike and found an office inside the garage. It was a rat’s hole of filing cabinets and boxes. The air smelled like grease. If he dropped a match, the whole place might explode into a raging inferno. A thin man was sitting behind a desk, an unlit cigarette jammed between his lips. The sign on his desk said “Richie Venezuela, Manager.”

  “What do you want?” Venezuela said.

  Not very polite, Danny decided. But he was from the big city. He could handle rude.

  “A guy came over to Zinc’s Sandwiches, forgot his change,” he said. “I brought it for him.”

  “There’s no guy here.”

  “He walked right here,” Danny said. “My age, blond hair.”

  Venezuela shrugged. “You see him anywhere?”

  “He left without his change.”

  “How much change?”

  Danny thought fast. “Ten bucks.”

  “Well, l
eave it here. If anyone shows up, I’ll give it to him.”

  “Never mind,” Danny said.

  He stepped out into the bright, crisp air, glad to be out of the greasy-smelling air. He didn’t think the guy would appreciate it if he started exploring the junkyard on his own, but he really wanted to see Kevin again. He reached for his bicycle handlebars and heard a distinctive whirring sound.

  2KEWLE bumped and rolled in his backpack. His tiny horn sounded.

  Danny slung the backpack off and opened the zipper. 2KEWLE rolled out, looking disgruntled. He rolled back and forth, flashed his headlights, and steered himself around the corner of the building.

  “Wait up,” Danny said.

  2KEWLE navigated his way through twenty feet of metal maze before stopping. Danny peered around a stack of used tires and saw a thirty-foot long RV parked by the back fence. It was battered and worn on the outside, but in his skewed vision, it shone bright white, almost too bright to look at.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  2KEWLE made a soft mewling sound, like a kitten, and backed away. Danny got the distinct impression the buggy didn’t want to get too close to the RV.

  “You think he went there?”

  2KEWLE stayed silent.

  “You are a strange little toy,” Danny said. He scooped 2KEWLE up and eased him back into his backpack. “Time to find out more about you, buddy.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Eric’s house was a big mansion with more rooms than Danny could count. In the basement was a finished entertainment room full of toys, board games, a pool table, a big screen TV, and a bar stocked with snacks and soda. Eric chewed on a granola bar as he eyed 2KEWLE, who sat on the game table looking forlorn and dirty.

  “So it’s remote-controlled,” Eric said. “What’s the big deal?”

  “I need to find out who’s controlling it,” Danny said. He checked his watch. He’d bicycled over with 2KEWLE under his arm, and only had fifteen minutes before he had to get back to the sandwich shop.

  Eric’s annoying younger sister, Emily, looked up from the game she was playing on the TV. “It’s not remote-controlled.”

  “Shut up, squirt.” Eric turned 2KEWLE over. “Where’s the on/off switch?”

  “I don’t know,” Eric said.

  Emily piped up again. “On the controller.”

  Eric said, “Don’t make me come over there and tickle you.”

  “Like you could catch me,” Emily scoffed.

  “What controller?” Danny asked her.

  She left the game control on the rug and climbed up on a stool. She was only ten and short for her age.

  “It’s not a remote control because ‘remote’ means there’d be a wire connecting it to a controller, and there’s obviously no wire.” Emily picked up 2KEWLE and turned it over. “This one’s r/c—radio controlled. There’s a receiver inside. And a transmitter, too.”

  Eric leaned over and messed up Emily’s hair. “Ain’t she smart? That’s why we keep her.”

  “Quit it,” Emily said, squirming out from under Eric’s hand.

  She peered at the underside some more. “Looks like someone bought the chassis and built on it from there. See in there? That’s a custom-made circuit board. Someone spent a lot of money.”

  “How come you know so much?” Danny asked.

  Eric said, “She’s got her own helicopter fleet.”

  “It’s not a fleet.” Emily slipped off the stool and padded in her bare feet to a cabinet built into the wall. The doors swung open with a click. Inside sat a half dozen tiny helicopters carefully arranged on the shelves.

  “That’s an Ocean Rescue,” she said, pointing. “That’s an Apache, and that’s a Hughes—”

  Eric interrupted her. “My little sister is really a boy on the inside.”

  “Shut up,” Emily said.

  Danny turned his attention back to 2KEWLE. “From how far away can someone control them? A mile or two?”

  Emily folded her arms. “I’m not going to tell you because my brother is a big jerk.”

  Eric barreled around the table to chase her down the length of the entertainment room. “We’ll see who’s a jerk, squirt!”

  Danny ignored the two of them and studied 2KEWLE some more. “How fast does it go?”

  “I’m not telling you!” Emily yelled, just as Eric caught her in a big bear hug.

  “You guys have been a lot of help.” He wrapped 2KEWLE up in his jacket again and headed for the basement door. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

  He left the two of them squabbling and got on his bicycle. Most of the trip back to Zinc’s was downhill, which made the going easy. At the corner of Clemson and Colgate, he slowed to watch a black man who was erecting a portable stop sign. The man was dressed in civilian clothes and had a yellow city truck. After the man got the sign fixed in place, he pulled out his cell phone, as if answering a call.

  A very big cell phone, in fact.

  Then he swung it in an arc, and 2KEWLE went wild in Danny’s backpack.

  “Hey!” Danny shouted, as 2KEWLE slammed and bucked against his back. He dropped the backpack on the pavement and the zipper split open. 2KEWLE rolled out. Part of his rear fender was hanging loose, damaged in the fall. He raced away with the fender dragging on the road.

  “No, wait!” Danny called.

  The man in the city worker uniform shouted, “You there! Stop that toy!”

  Danny bicycled fast after 2KEWLE, and the man chased after them both.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Danny wasn’t much of a runner, but he wanted to catch 2KEWLE before the stranger did. He heard the city truck rev up behind him but didn’t dare look back.

  Colgate Avenue was a tree-lined lane of mansions, garages, and guest houses. The trees were turning red with autumn, and the big, broad lawns were littered with fallen leaves. 2KEWLE abruptly turned into a wide driveway, plowed through a pile of maple and oak leaves, and barreled up a path into someone’s backyard. Danny biked past a discarded rake and chased 2KEWLE toward a white gazebo.

  “You, kid!” a gardener yelled. “What are you doing?”

  2KEWLE showed no signs of slowing down as it barreled down a hillside toward someone else’s backyard. Danny had to abandon his bicycle and scramble through brush in order to follow. He wondered how many trespassing laws he was breaking for the sake of a little toy buggy.

  When he was free of the brush, he found himself in the middle of a large lawn with its own brick terrace and covered swimming pool. The white house in front of him was three stories tall and looked almost as big as Eric’s. 2KEWLE was halfway toward the garage and showed no signs of slowing down.

  “Come back!” Danny yelled.

  From behind a large wooden fence came the sound of the yellow truck.

  Danny ran as fast as he could toward the garage. He was within fifty feet when a barking German shepherd streaked out from around the corner and leapt toward him. The dog was huge, with enormous sharp teeth. Danny hurled himself backward with only a moment to spare.

  He expected to land hard, but instead hit a sheet of thick plastic.

  The pool cover broke free, trapping him. The cold water of the swimming pool closed in over Danny’s head.

  *

  The funny thing about drowning was that Danny didn’t feel like he was drowning at all. On some dim level, he was aware of cold water in his mouth and nose and ears, and of not being able to breathe past the big cement block in his lungs. But he didn’t feel afraid, either. He felt sleepy and calm and ready for whatever came next.

  What came next wasn’t his life flashing before him, but two specific memories instead. In the first, he was sitting in their house back in San Francisco, watching TV in the living room. He was eight years old. It was rainy outside the windows, but inside all was warm and bright. Dad was due home any minute now, he and Mickey both. The house smelled like Mom’s meatloaf, and the table was set for four.

  In his memory, he couldn’
t remember what exact TV show he’d been watching, but it was some kind of documentary. Big black birds swept in and grabbed mice, rabbits, and other things hopping around on a prairie. The footage both fascinated and appalled him. Birds eating mice, yuck. He barely heard the phone ring. His mother answered, but then she was silent, just listening, and something about that made Danny get off the rug where he was sitting and go around the corner to the kitchen.

  His mother was standing with her back to the sink. One hand held the phone to her ear, and her other hand was pressed to her chest as if something hurt. Her mouth was open just a little bit. Her eyes were staring right at Danny, but he didn’t think she actually saw him.

  The unnatural stillness of her posture and the dazed expression on her face made Danny shrink back, but it was too late. He had already seen something horrible sweeping in on their lives like an enormous black bird with razor-sharp talons. He just hadn’t felt the pain himself yet, and wouldn’t until Mom sat down and told him exactly what had happened.

  The second memory that flashed through Danny as he was drowning also took place in that kitchen in San Francisco. Years had passed; he’d grown taller, stronger. The curtains were different. The furniture had been replaced. But Mom was the same, just a little older and shorter from his perspective. She had a job working in marketing and advertising. They were a team. She kept them housed, fed, and clothed. He went to school and played his guitar and tried to stay out of trouble, though there had been a very bad time right before Christmas when he’d gotten into enough trouble for his entire lifetime. On this night, she had made his favorite dinner, spaghetti and meatballs. The wind was hard against the windows, but inside it was warm, and the air smelled like garlic.

  “I have news,” Mom said. She looked excited and worried at the same time, which made Danny nervous.

  “News I’m going to like?” he asked.

  She sat down. “News that I like. Roger and I are going to get married.”