Harper mutters, “Game’s off, guys. We can’t do it. Not with the driver there.”
Isora tells Drumgold, “Give me your tee-shirt. Quick.”
She pulls it over her head, so that it becomes a mini-skirt. She slips off her jeans and hands them to Drumgold. She sees Harper trying to look away, and failing, and smiles at him. “Sorry, Harp.” She peers from the passageway at the car. “Which side is the gas tank?”
“Passenger side,” says Drumgold.
She gives Drumgold the can of spray paint and says, “Keep out of sight, but be ready.”
She crosses the lane and saunters towards the car, heading for the driver’s side. The driver lowers his newspaper to watch her approach.
Harper, peering cautiously around the corner of the passageway with Drumgold, says, “Where did she learn to walk like that?”
As Isora passes the car she seems to stumble and fall. The boys watch as the car door opens and the chauffeur says, “Are you all right, miss?”
They hear Isora say, “I think so,” and see her try to rise, but fall back, Drumgold’s tee-shirt riding higher on her legs.
The chauffeur bends over her and says, “Where does it hurt?”
Drumgold whispers, “Let’s go.”
With a glance towards Main Street they run to the car, keeping low. From the other side of the vehicle, they hear Isora say, “My ankle, I think.”
The chauffeur asks, “There?” Isora lets out a gasp and the driver says, “Sorry.”
Drumgold pries open the cover of the gas tank with his knife and unscrews the cap. Harper tips in the jar of sand. Drumgold replaces the cap and closes the cover.
Loud laughter and applause sound from Main Street, followed by Mayor Green’s voice: “Let’s hear it for Mr. Anderson.”
As the applause and cheers swell, Drumgold spray-paints BARF on the side of the car. The boys rise so that they can see through the car windows to the other side, where the chauffeur is still bent over Isora. They run down Portage and throw themselves around the corner into the Parallel, out of sight of the car. They peer back around the corner. The applause is fading. Isora is limping away from the car, while the chauffeur looks between her and the crowd that is starting to appear on Main Street. Isora reaches the Parallel and looks behind her. The chauffeur is still watching. He waves. As he glances back toward Main Street, she slips into the Parallel, on the opposite corner to the boys. Drumgold, peering up the lane, motions for her to stay there.
Anderson is at the end of Portage, a crowd of people around him, wanting to shake his hand. He backs away, waving. The chauffeur hurries into the car. Anderson turns and heads for the passenger side door. The car’s engine is coughing and spluttering. Anderson stops and stares at the side of AA1. He puts his hands on his hips. He walks slowly towards the car. The chauffeur gets out and runs around to join him. The crowd has followed Anderson and falls silent as Sgt. Chase bustles to his side.
His words reach the members of the Front: “I’ll get to the bottom of this, Mr. Anderson. I’ll take care of it. I won’t rest until I find the culprits.”
Drumgold whispers to Harper, “We gotta get back to Main Street – fast.”
“It might be a good idea to put your shirt on first,” says Harper.
“That’s why we’re going where we’re going,” says Drumgold.
He crosses the Parallel and plunges into the alders that cover the marshy wasteland between the dirt road and the Back River. Harper follows. Their feet sinking into the mud, they make their way past the end of Portage in the shelter of the alders. Isora meets them as they emerge out of sight of anyone looking down the lane. With a quick glance up and down the deserted Parallel, Isora pulls Drumgold’s shirt over her head and exchanges it for her jeans. Harper looks carefully away again.
Isora mutters, “Sorry, Harp. I can’t help it.”
Drumgold, his shirt on, says, “Get up to Main Street on the other side of the post office. Then split up and make yourselves visible doing something – anything – and make like you’ve been there for a while.”
“But no-one saw us doing the car,” says Harper. “No-one will suspect us.” He looks from Drumgold to Isora. “Will they?”
“Let’s cover ourselves anyway,” says Drumgold. “Twenty minutes from now, meet in front of Al’s.”
As they jog down the Parallel, Harper says, “But that’s close to Portage...and Mr. Anderson’s car. There’ll still be a crowd there.”
“Right,” says Drumgold. “So where’s the last place the ones that did the job are likely to be?”
Harper mutters, “Oh. Right.”
Isora says, “I’m going over to the daycare to help with the float for the parade tomorrow.” She heads up to Main Street, skirts the now deserted stage, and disappears behind the post office. Drumgold continues jogging along the Parallel. Harper hesitates, watching them, then follows Isora’s route to Main Street, where he turns right, away from the crowd, and heads for the Presbyterian Kirk Hall. He knows his mother is there, preparing for the evening’s Old Tyme Dance. He sneaks in and blows up balloons until his mother sees him and thanks him for helping. Then he slips away and joins Drumgold and Isora in front of Al’s.
As they walk towards Portage Lane, they pass a hot dog stand on the other side of the street. The woman behind it waves them over, calling, “Children, you haven’t had a snack yet, have you?”
Harper murmurs, “It’s Mrs. Anderson.”
They cross to the stand.
Mrs. Anderson says, “It’s Harper...Harper Meating, isn’t it? I know Andrew wouldn’t want the son of his right-hand man to miss out on a hot dog, not when he treasures his work so much.”
As she talks, Mrs. Anderson scoops wieners from the grill. Her freckled face is red and her coppery hair hangs in sweaty tendrils over her forehead.
She goes on, “What have you been up to this afternoon, dear?”
Harper mumbles, “Helping Mom get ready for the dance at the Kirk.”
“And who are your friends? I suppose they’ve been helping, too.”
Harper says, “This is Isora...and this is Drumgold.”
Isora says, “I’ve been working on the daycare float.”
Mrs. Anderson stops preparing the hot dogs and gazes at Isora. She murmurs, “My dear, stand still while I look at you. You are gorgeous. Your hair...such a rich colour...and your features...so fine and delicate.” She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. “I feel old and frumpy beside you.”
Harper thinks Mrs. Anderson looks sad.
She laughs. “I’m sorry. Please forgive an old lady’s admiration.” She turns to Drumgold. “I’ve seen you before.”
Drumgold starts, “I don’t think so–”
“I’ve seen you helping your mother at work. I expect you were helping her this afternoon, too.”
Drumgold nods.
She hands hot dogs to the friends and says, “You are such good children. Your parents must be very proud of you. I’ll be sure to tell Andrew all about how you’re helping the community. There are so many young people today who seem bent on spoiling the town with their rowdy behaviour and...and...with vandalism, and I don’t know what else. Then I see wonderful young people like you, and my faith in the youth of today is restored.”
She beams at them as they murmur thanks and walk on.
As soon as they are out of earshot, Drumgold mutters, “Is she fucking in love with you or what, Harp?”
“She’s just being nice,” he says.
A tow truck is reversing into Portage, the crowd falling back to let it through.
Drumgold asks a man in the crowd, “What happened?”
“Someone spray-painted Mr. Anderson’s car and put something in the gas tank, too, by the look of it.”
Another onlooker, a woman standing nearby, says, “I heard Sgt. Chase say the spray paint probably came from the hardware store so they can easily find out who bought it and then they’ll get whoever did it.”
/> “Who’d do a stupid thing like that?” says Drumgold.
“Probably kids,” the woman says.
“Kids that need a kick in the head. And I’d like to be the one that gives it to ’em,” the man adds.
His voice has risen and murmurs of agreement come from people standing around him. Someone says, “When Sgt. Chase finds who did it, he should just turn them over to us and we’ll teach them a lesson,” and another, “What’s Mr. Anderson done to deserve this?”
The friends move away and Harper whispers, “I don’t think we’re popular.”
“We didn’t do it to be popular,” says Drumgold.
19
Lully is lying on the floor at the daycare, one child sitting on his chest while another climbs on his raised knees. Isora kneels beside him. A toddler stands behind her, playing with her hair. Drumgold and Harper wait just inside the door, among the parents who are arriving to collect their children.
It’s the Monday after Back River Daze.
Isora says, “You missed all the fun.”
“I wanted to be there, but I had to spend time with Mom,” says Lully.
Isora wrinkles her nose. “You smell of pee.”
He grins. “Little Charlie had an accident on me. It’s an occupational hazard, but there are worse things to smell of.”
The children climbing on Lully, seeing their parents at the door, abandon him. One returns to hug him before leaving.
The friends walk home with Lully. The boys sit behind the trailer, watching George as he races around at the edge of the woods, while Lully and Isora make herbal tea. It’s the three week lull between the end of the school year and the start of their summer jobs, Drumgold with the cleaning company his mother works for, Isora filling in at the daycare, and Harper cutting lawns in the subdivision where he lives. They’ve been at the camp all day. They’d planned an early morning walk on the beach, but had to hide in the woods when Anderson came down the steps from the cottage to swim. On their way back to town in the afternoon, he’d passed them in AA1. There was no sign of the spray-painting.
While she prepares tea, Isora says, “I have something to tell you.”
Lully says, “You sound very serious.”
“I borrowed a can of spray paint from under the sink.”
Lully laughs. “Is that all?”
“I sprayed BARF on Anderson’s wall and car with it.”
“Where is it now?”
“I put it back.”
“No problem. You’re welcome.”
“But...suppose the police trace it to you.”
“They won’t.”
“But they can find what sort it was and where it was bought, can’t they?”
“They can. But they won’t.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble. If they find it, just say it was me. I didn’t know what to do with it. I probably should have thrown it away, shouldn’t I? Do you want me to take it, and–”
Lully puts his hands on her shoulders. “It’s not a problem. Stop worrying. Help yourself if you need it again.” As they carry the tea outside, he asks, “How’s the BARF campaign going, anyway?”
“It stinks,” says Isora.
“Stinks...how?”
“Stinks because it’s not working,” Drumgold puts in.
The friends explain how Anderson didn’t even know about the fertilizer and how the car was repaired and cleaned within a couple of days.
“All we’ve done is cause him some minor inconvenience and his men extra work,” Drumgold concludes. “What would de la Cruz say for us to do?”
“He’d say to move the action closer to the man,” says Lully.
20
“Lully said to move the action closer to the man – not to hurt him,” says Harper.
Drumgold cocks his head. “How are we doing so far with the BARF campaign, Harp?”
“Not too good,” Harper admits.
“Do you want to go on the beach without being harassed by Anderson’s goons?”
“Yes, but...”
“Do you believe what we’re doing is right?”
“’Course I do, but...”
“Then let’s move the action closer to Anderson, like Dex says. Let’s make it a little more personal and see if we can’t get some results.”
It’s early morning, and they are working their way along the top of the beach towards the rocky bluff where the steps lead up to the cottage. They are keeping close to the woods, ready to scramble into the shelter of the trees if anyone appears. Drumgold is carrying a grocery bag. When they reach the wall of rocks, Drumgold whispers, “Stay there.” Isora passes him Lully’s can of spray paint. Drumgold slithers along the edge of the bluff on his stomach, keeping close to the rocks, dragging the bag behind him. If Diamond Head or Droopy appears at the top of the bluff, where the iron gate opens on to the cottage grounds, he thinks he’ll be hidden, as long as they don’t come down. He reaches the steps and empties the bag. It contains two beer bottles they’d found beside the road and smashed at the camp. Drumgold places the pieces of broken glass at the foot of the steps and sprinkles sand over them. He spray-paints BARF on the rocks so that the slogan can be seen only from the beach beyond the foot of the steps. He slithers back to where Isora and Harper wait. Still hugging the woods, they set off toward Seal Point. Halfway there, they look back at the cottage, and seeing no-one, scramble into a deep gully carved through the sand by the retreating tide. They flatten themselves and watch the cottage, waiting for Anderson to appear for his morning swim.
They don’t have long to wait before the iron gate swings open.
Mrs. Anderson appears at the top of the steps.
Harper is already halfway out of the gully when Drumgold grabs him and pulls him down. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“It’s Mrs. Anderson.”
“So? Dexter said to get the action closer to the man. Mrs. Anderson’s close enough.”
She’s stretching at the top of the steps. Her skin is white and flabby. She holds her arms wide and twists her body as she swings them from side to side. She jogs on the spot.
“She was nice to us,” says Harper. “Now we’re going to hurt her.”
“Can’t be helped,” says Drumgold. “It’s too late now, anyway.”
Mrs. Anderson is jogging down the steps.
Harper looks at Isora.
She says, “Drumgold’s right, Harp.”
Mrs. Anderson gathers speed and jumps the last two steps, landing heavily in the sand. She crumples. They hear her moans. Harper half rises but Drumgold pulls him down again and says, “Don’t move.”
Isora is biting her lip.
Mrs. Anderson stands unsteadily. She puts one foot on the lowest step and sinks back down as she puts her weight on it.
“Her feet must be bleeding,” says Harper. “She could bleed to death.”
Isora says, “Someone will come.”
“Suppose someone doesn’t.”
They watch for five minutes. Mrs. Anderson makes another attempt to climb the stairs. This time she manages two steps before sinking down. They hear her whimpering.
“We’ve hurt her badly,” says Harper.
“The collateral damage of dissent,” Drumgold murmurs.
Droopy appears at the iron gate. He runs down the steps and kneels beside Mrs. Anderson. He speaks into his radio. Diamond Head runs down the steps with a woman they don’t know. Diamond Head runs back. The woman and Droopy hover over Mrs. Anderson. The woman has towels and is wrapping Mrs. Anderson’s feet in them. They hear the wail of an ambulance and a few minutes later two paramedics arrive with a stretcher. One works at Mrs. Anderson’s feet while the other checks her pulse and takes her blood pressure.
“Told you she’s bleeding to death,” Harper mutters.
“Shut up, Harp,” says Drumgold.
The paramedics strap Mrs. Anderson to the stretcher and are about to mount the steps when Mr. Anderson runs down. He bends over Mrs. An
derson and then walks beside her, holding her hand, as the paramedics carry her up. Droopy is last to go. He picks up the pieces of broken glass and runs his hand carefully over the sand at the foot of the steps. He takes a few paces back, examining the beach. He stares at Drumgold’s scrawled letters, shaking his head. He trots up to the iron gate. The ambulance’s siren starts and fades. Droopy returns with Diamond Head. They stare at the letters. They turn and scan the beach. The friends duck their heads. They raise them as the security guards turn back to the slogan. Diamond Head bends and sprays something over it. Droopy rubs briefly at it.
They stand back.
The slogan is gone.
“Anderson won’t even see BARF,” says Isora. “He won’t know who put the glass there.”
“He won’t even know about the glass,” says Drumgold.
“They’ll tell him, won’t they?” says Harper.
“If you were getting paid to protect the property and someone had been throwing broken glass around and spray-painting practically in the grounds, would you tell him?” says Drumgold.
“Guess not,” Harper mutters.
The security guards scan the beach again. As they mount the steps they keep stopping to stare across the beach. The friends flatten themselves in the sand. Harper wishes he could tunnel into it. With a last look, Diamond Head and Droopy disappear through the iron gate.
Drumgold, Isora and Harper slink towards Seal Point.
21
“It’s fifty-fifty,” says Drumgold. “Half a chance Anderson will never expect something else to happen right after Mrs. Anderson and the glass. Half a chance he’ll be so paranoid he’ll have extra security guards and they’ll be jumpy as all get out. My bet’s on he won’t expect anything, especially as he’s going to think yesterday was just an accident, with Diamond Head and Droopy getting rid of where we wrote BARF. What do you think?”
“I think we’re crazy,” says Harper.
He wishes he could stay as cool as Drumgold and Isora. He’s got the cold sweats and is actually shaking. He hopes his friends don’t notice. He’s afraid they’ll smell the sweat of his fear.
It’s nearly nine o’clock in the evening, dark enough for them to approach the cottage from the beach without being seen. They are lying in a hollow in the sand. They’ve watched the lights of the cottage come on one by one, until now Harper thinks it looks like some kind of extra-terrestrial craft perched atop the bluff.
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