Roughhouse

by Dan Cummings

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, a strand of her hair hanging over her eyes.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ She seemed confused for a moment, not understanding what she was supposed to have heard. Then she remembered. ‘Oh, my dad races pigeons. There’s a hutch in the garden. Always attracts cats.’ She noticed that look of unrest in his eyes again and it seemed to stem from more than just a meddlesome cat amongst the pigeons. A quiet memory of Deb’s voice took on new life in her mind, becoming a taunting disciplinarian. Did he run into trouble on the way here? ‘You sure you’re okay? You seem distracted.’

  ‘I just keep thinking about Lloyd,’ he fudged the truth. ‘I guess I do feel responsible.’

  Lindsey rolled onto her side, searching his troubled expression. ‘Sam and Matt are right. Let’s say his knee damage was worse than he thought, any guilt for his death falls at the feet of whichever part-time physio treated him. And let’s not forget that idiot coach. Just because he was a hotshot basketball star doesn’t mean he should have access to the gym and pool whenever he wanted.’ She laid her hand on his chest. ‘It’s not your fault.’ She wanted to kiss him again but didn’t want to make light of the very sombre circumstance.

  A loud bang came from the garden, one too loud to be explained away by prowling cats. Lindsey jumped and turned to the window, a creeping sense of unease beginning to wind tightly and slowly within her stomach. She got up and walked over to stare through the glass, holding her hand to the pane to see through her bedroom’s reflection. With some relief all she saw was an empty garden and an intact hutch. Neil was already shadowing her, his paper thin calm stripped away effortlessly. ‘Maybe one of the cats jumped off the fence. There’s this one chunky tabby that keeps returning. I’m amazed the tubby furball can still jump,’ she reasoned.

  Neil’s spooked eyes probed every inch of the quiet, still garden, trying to penetrate every scrap of darkness. Lindsey turned away from the glass, about to speak when the doorbell rang. She rolled her eyes. ‘Seems like the world is against us here.’

  Would Frogmore be so brazen as to ring the bell? Ridiculous, he wouldn’t need to. He was just getting himself worked up over nothing. He watched Lindsey heading towards the door of her room. ‘Were you expecting anybody else?’

  ‘No, could be Trish next door. She sometimes calls over to put the world to rights with my mom.’

  ‘Let me get it.’ Neil followed her out the room.

  ‘I’m allowed to answer the door, so long as I don’t accept rides from strangers,’ she parried his offer of bizarre gentlemanly conduct.

  An irrational part of him felt like grabbing her, stopping her, as nightmarish concoctions of her answering the door and being attacked by an unhinged, bipedal amphibian spiralled through his thoughts. He all but chased after her to the bottom of the stairs when she threw him a curious glance before answering the door. His stomach tightened, and a nervous sweat began to form.

  A middle-aged soccer mom type was on the porch, blonde and quite pretty if not for the copious amount of superficial surgery holding her together like a peroxide doll. A short stack of flyers was clutched to her blouse. ‘Hi, Lindsey.’

  ‘Hi, Angie. What’s up?’

  Angie’s eyes swivelled momentarily to a relieved but somewhat guilty looking Neil, lingering on the stitched-up swelling of his right eye. With practised social grace she looked back at Lindsey and smiled like she was part of some big sordid secret. ‘Not much, Lindsey, I don’t want to keep you. I’m just passing these flyers to all our neighbours. A number of pets have been going missing from backyards in the area—’ she blanched slightly, ‘—some have even been killed. Mrs Walters’ pup was found in a bush, looked like it had been soaked in acid, poor little thing. Anyway, I thought your parents might want to know what with their pigeons.’

  Lindsey scrunched her face in distaste. ‘That’s horrible. Who does such a thing?’

  Angie handed Lindsey one of the cautionary neighbourhood watch flyers. ‘I hope somebody catches this sick bastard.’ She forced a grin for Lindsey and Neil. ‘Well, I got lots more houses to visit. Be careful, you two.’

  Lindsey hooked a curl of her dark hair over her ear and tried to look natural, hands in pockets. ‘Thanks, Ange, I’ll pass the message on.’ She closed the door and smirked nervously at Neil who looked like he was flushed from a passing heart scare. ‘This week is turning into quite the melodrama. Be honest with me, are you just edgy from what happened to Lloyd or is something else going on? You don’t know anything about this—’ she flashed the flyer up like a cue card, ‘—do you?’

  This was it, his opportunity. The truth was out of the question, but maybe he could just say that the terrible twosome were still after him and it would be safer to let this burgeoning relationship die young. Looking at the enquiring glow in the eyes of her adorable face, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. She hadn’t threatened him or harmed him in any way, there was nothing to suggest that Frogmore would hurt her.

  A smile of relief cracked his tense face, nervous laughter squeaking out. ‘Of course not. I’m just frazzled. You must think I’m some damn freak.’

  ‘I think I’m starting to. But, you’re a cute freak.’ She rolled up the flyer.

  Neil cleared his throat, the panic in his eyes had depleted to a shallow film. ‘Let me check on your dad’s pigeons, make sure there’s definitely no one out there?’

  She took his hand loosely. ‘Let’s make it quick. We’re squandering valuable alone time.’

  Neil wanted to protest, to beg her to just allow him to check the garden by himself.

  Goddamn coward.

  Chapter 27

  ‘Do you think it was quick?’ Sam asked, his question tainted with the macabre interest of the ghoulish.

  Matt was unprepared for such a question. They had been happily watching season two of Daredevil on Netflix — or so he thought — but it turned out Sam had actually been submerged in the water with Lloyd’s body. Imagining that last frightful gulp of air.

  ‘I-I don’t know, man.’ This wasn’t a topic Matt felt like exploring right now.

  ‘I’ve read people say that it’s a peaceful way to go but—’ Sam didn’t look directly at Matt, he just tilted his head an inch ‘—how would they know?’

  Matt shrugged quietly, a small frown pulling at his thick black eyebrows. ‘Dude, can we just watch a blind guy fight ninjas instead? I think we could all use a break from violence and now, death.’ Matt turned to Sam beside him on the bed, seeing a mean smugness splayed on his face. ‘We’ve all been quite emotional lately, and I know sometimes we can say shit in the heat of the moment that we might not necessarily mean, but please don’t tell me you’re actually happy he’s dead.’

  Sam looked at him, thinking about his answer for a moment. ‘Fuck yeah, I’m happy. It’s nice to see life fuck over somebody who actually deserves it for once.’

  Matt hung his head and sighed. ‘That’s fucked up. I’ll admit, if it was Staubach or Noakes, I’d probably agree with you. But Lloyd? He was just a dick. I’m not going to cheer his death.’

  ‘He knew full well who he was hanging around with. He’d been doing it for long enough.’

  Matt turned back to the glorious escapism on the TV. ‘Do you think Thornton and Ennis will do time for this?’

  Sam’s ex-smoking habit caused his fingers to worry at a loose thread on his shirt. A joint was still mighty tempting, but he did seem to have a slight hold on the scruff of his monkey’s neck. ‘Don’t know. Maybe. Did you see them talking to that cop after the assembly? Something seemed sketchy about it.’

  ‘If my negligence killed a kid I’d be looking pretty fucking freaked out too.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t that, it just—’ Sam held his hands out like he was trying to frame his thought ‘—it seemed like they were being secretive about something.’

  ‘Maybe he’s one of the goons who belongs to Noakes’ uncle,’ Matt speculated, watching the episode end on a cliff-hanger. ‘
Helping clear up one of his nephew’s crew.’

  ‘Do you think being a private investigator is as cool they make it seem on TV and in books?’

  Matt sniggered. It felt good. The light-hearted, leftfield question was more than welcome. ‘Probably not. They always seem bitter, alcoholic, depressed. But if you want to give it a shot I could be your sassy sidekick. Dulane and Groves. We could be the next Rizzoli & Isles.’

  Sam grinned. ‘I was thinking of McNulty and Bunk off The Wire.’

  ‘Why them two?’

  ‘Why Rizzoli & Isles?’ Sam countered with a giggle.

  Matt couldn’t offer a good answer. ‘Shit, I don’t know, my dad always watches it.’

  The next episode was about to start. ‘One more?’ Sam asked.

  Matt felt a yawn coming on. ‘Not tonight. I’m about to drop.’

  ‘I’m carrying on without you then?’

  ‘Don’t be a dick, I’m just as invested in this with you.’ Matt gave Sam a gentle charley horse. ‘We’ll finish them tomorrow. And after that, Luke Cage.’

  Sam rubbed his wounded leg and backed down. ‘Okay, Jesus. You’re the one who thought superheroes were stupid.’

  ‘I’m converted. And now I’m going. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘You want a lift?’

  Matt waved the offer away and yawned so hard his jaw clicked. ‘I’m going to stretch my legs. Have a healthy cigarette.’

  ‘Suit yourself. See you tomorrow.’

  Matt took the attic steps and flicked his cap brim in farewell.

  *****

  Matt idled along the tree-lined sidewalk, tapping ash from his menthol, his head in the clouds and the chilly air invigorating him. He still felt a little uneasy with Sam’s attitude towards Lloyd’s demise, even to the point where he started to doubt his own perspective on the issue. Should he too be feeling that way, rejoicing with Sam in his tasteless celebration? No, he swatted that aside and took a drag, exhaling through his nose. Lloyd was an unmitigated asshole, but being happy about his death felt a little controversial.

  The phone chimed in his pocket. A pleasant surprise, it was a message from Deb. Grinning around the cigarette, he glimpsed the message but didn’t reply. Let her dangle for a little bit. He would get home, nuke his dinner and mess about on YouTube for a bit before leisurely checking to see what the princess wanted with the pauper. His rundown house was in the near distance, the lights off, a shabby blemish on the idyllic suburb. Flicking the butt down the storm drain, he quietly headed up towards the porch when a snapping sound brought his distracted thoughts slam to a stop. The night air suddenly felt chillier. It had come from round the back of his house. He knew his dad was working late, freezing his balls off in a visibility jacket at the Gerald Ford International Airport, and the upstairs light was off, meaning his mom was probably asleep.

  The cul-de-sac was so oppressively quiet. He waited for another sound, another broken twig but found his ears besieged by nothing but the faint, distant chirping of crickets. Feeling his pulse jacked up into action-mode, he peered into the oily darkness along the side of the house, stretching off into the moonlit back yard. His heart was in his throat, waiting for something to lumber out of the shadows.

  Shaking his head, he blamed his fraught nerves on tiredness and accumulated stress, and started up the porch steps. Curious, he noticed a sheet of paper protruding from the letterbox. Carefully, very wary of the squeaky grasp of the letterbox, he shuffled the paper loose. It was from the friendly neighbourhood do-gooders, warning of a spate of stolen or murdered pets which was rocking animal lovers everywhere. Sam popped into his head, telling him and Neil that Ollie had been found dead, burned with some type of acid or something. Maybe it wasn’t Staubach after all, maybe there was some other nasty little shit working on his serial killer credentials in this quiet, safe little ’burb. What the shit is my life turning into?

  As he slid his key into the door, another snapping twig noise had him spinning to his right so fast his head spun. He expected some pet-murdering pervert to slink out from around the side of the house, a dead bundle of fur in his large crushing mitts and madness in his eyes. Remaining stock still, he waited like a frightened animal, watching the side of the house, barely breathing. Slowly, he opened the front door and reached inside, retrieving the baseball bat he kept near the stairs. On twitchy legs, he silently took flat-footed steps along the edges of the porch stairs and moved off the path onto the springy dew-tipped grass. Gripping the bat tight, he tiptoed to the corner of the peeling clapboard house. The alley was so formidably nebulous that he was scared to step into it, the neighbour’s overhanging bushes providing a corridor of unsuspecting threat.

  He wanted to turn back, enter the house and lock the door. But what if it was that pet-killing freak? What if he tried to get into his home? He was the man of the house tonight, like it or not. He reached for his phone, needing the torchlight to spot any crunchy leaves waiting to give away his position. If he had any luck, any intruder might see the light and scale the fence to freedom. With a held breath, he stepped out from behind the corner, ready to swing the bat at whatever the light uncovered.

  Nothing.

  Just the empty flagged path, swept of leaves up until the grassy square of the back yard. He turned the light off, knowing the moon would be enough to guide his way once he reached the open yard. Breathing felt tight in his locked chest, but at least his night vision was kicking in. Reaching the rear of the house, he felt a sudden explosion of horror deep in his very centre, his legs buckling as if they were trying to automatically carry him away from what was waiting for him. Two figures, backlit by the silver coin of the moon. Their heads were out of all normal proportion, whatever masks the pair wore, their detail was unintelligible.

  Matt felt so tense he thought his body was going to turn to adrenalized jelly. ‘Wrong house, motherfu—’ A cold point prodded the skin of his throat. Someone had followed him down the alley. His bladder tightened. The burglars, pet-killers, whoever, had a third accomplice. Then everything tumbled into place, common sense managing to call out through the white noise of panic, he knew who these were. But why here, why now?

  ‘Stay quiet,’ the knife holder whispered into his ear, prodding the tip a little deeper into his neck.

  Matt knew Staubach carried a knife with him, a flash of Neil’s carved face flashed like a bulb in his mind, but the voice didn’t match. This one had a trace of doubt to it. Dodd. The two on the grass, Staubach and Noakes, walked up to him, quickly and quietly, the one on the right tossing a broken, twisted twig into the bush beside the neighbour’s fence. Matt judged him to be Shit Storm from the height and skinnier build. Then the masks came into focus from the weak ambient light of the neighbour’s bedroom, illuminating an inquisitive looking mouse, the full-head mask fixed into a faux fur, ear-adorned hood. The black plastic eyes were somewhere between cute and deeply distressing.

  The second mask was an elongated horse head, towering over the broad shoulders of Noakes. Keenly aware of the blade’s point warming against the underside of his chin, Matt’s fearful, hateful glare watched Noakes pull a small tube from his pocket, retrieving a syringe from the package.

  ‘The fuck is that?’ Matt muttered, not wanting to test whether Dodd had murder in his heart.

  The mouse leaned in, almost forehead to forehead and at first Matt was expecting a head-butt, but instead he was told to, ‘Shut the fuck up.’ Staubach snatched the bat from his hands, keeping it for himself, and used his free hand to yank Matt’s arm up for Noakes to find a vein, which he did in short order.

  Matt winced from the spike of the cold needle, feeling the liquid slowly seep into his blood. Noakes had been instructed to administer the intravenous dose over the course of sixty seconds to avoid apnoea.

  ‘Just a little Special K. C’mon, we’re going for a ride.’ Noakes turned Matt around with a rough firm hand.

  Feeling a head rush, Matt felt Noakes and Staubach pushing him forwards, making him f
all in line behind the slanting vision of Dodd, now a knife carrying gibbon, leading him back into the dark, safe street and away from his home.

  Chapter 28

  Matt heard voices, or were they dreams, circling him?

  ‘Maybe the dosage was off?’

  ‘Crankenstein set the dose, just give him a minute. He said effects vary.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Almost twelve.’

  ‘He’s been out for two hours. The crackheads will be up soon.’

  ‘Can’t you just finish him yourself? This place is creeping me out,’ a third voice whined, a lonely lost child.

  It felt like he was coming up from out of a deep, never-ending burrow, the world a pinhole slowly dilating to life’s regular dimensions. He tried to place the voices, reconstruct his world, nothing seemed to make sense. A flutter of an image dangled just out sight of his recollection, something to do with sleepwalking through an ink-splashed suburb, wrapped up in a blanket of clouds and stars, following a small band of animal people to a fast car.

  Where am I now?

  His cheek was held firm against a cold, hard surface. Firelight threw shadows and tongues of flame but wasn’t close enough to provide any warmth. The smell of dirt and rot was pungent.

  ‘Hey,’ a voice whispered nearby, ‘he’s up.’

  Matt slowly felt his limbs come alive as the mouse squatted down in front of him. ‘Why can’t you guys let this go?’ Matt managed to say with some effort, feeling his brain slowly begin to fire its neurons with scattershot ineptitude. For some reason beyond Matt’s capacity to understand, Staubach took major offence to his question, punching him in the nose then dragging him off the floor. Matt felt the rubbery coordination slowly solidify, allowing him to be led with less struggle. They were on a rooftop, somewhere high from the looks of it but the view was far from scenic. Ravaged abandonment stretched as far as Matt’s eye could see, crumbling chimneys, boarded windows, graffiti and brick.