Roughhouse

by Dan Cummings

  Worried that his dad might be stirred up by the racket, Dodd quickly made for the kitchen’s screen door, fleeing to the side of the house. The coffee mug trailed a steamy stream behind him as he hurried to the front lawn, praying his dad wasn’t sober enough to bother himself with leaving his armchair to dole out a kicking to his only child. Staubach swung the rear end of his Kawasaki around like a whip, coming to stop at the front lawn, engine chugging. Staubach knew the whiny racket would get on Dodd’s old man’s tits, he also knew that Dodd knew that he knew, and therefore felt it prudent to twist the throttle several times for noisy effect. Dodd’s eyes bulged, his whole posture reduced to a snivelling wreck before the mechanical din.

  Staubach killed the engine, and pierced Dodd with a cold thousand-yard stare. ‘Jump on, I got a job for you,’ he commanded without preamble.

  Ordinarily, Dodd would never argue or intentionally displease him, but he felt like his tension-warped body was ready to drop even if his petrified mind refused to release him into sleep. ‘Russel…’ Dodd started, his voice a feeble surrender, ‘I can’t. Last night fucked me up. I can’t do this.’ Staubach had dismounted and was stamping over to Dodd like he was about to slug him. ‘I’m not like you or Noakes.’ Dodd had taken a few involuntary steps back towards the house, his shoulders rising up protectively against what he knew was coming. He was even lowering his coffee to the grass so that Staubach’s punch wouldn’t spill it all over his hand. ‘I’m sorry about Lloyd, I am. But I can’t—’

  Staubach stopped an inch from Dodd’s face but didn’t hit him, instead, with a quiet voice so full of anathema and brewing violence he interrupted Dodd’s mewling. ‘Noakes was killed last night. A fucking message carved into his chest. Guess who did it.’

  Dodd looked like he was having a mini seizure in his effort to reply, cowering under the malevolence of Staubach’s glare. ‘B-but…it couldn’t be, Karp? You didn’t send him the video until after midnight. How did he do it so quick?’ Dodd was trembling.

  ‘Because he’s not working alone. You should have seen the state of Noakes’s body. Whoever did it, carved “Karp’s Guardian Angel” into his chest and hung him up at Garth’s. Pigs are saying his car went through the rail out on Wilmslow Road. Karp doesn’t have a car, now tell me, who does Karp know who has wheels?’

  Dodd knew his doubt must be as clear as the crisp blue sky but couldn’t shake his expression. ‘There’s no way. Sam isn’t a killer. Russel, I don’t think Neil is a killer. What if we’ve been wrong?’

  Staubach edged his forehead forcefully into Dodd’s brow, challenging him, daring him to keep up his backchat. ‘Okay, smartass. Who the fuck dropped Karp’s wallet beside the pool? Who ran Noakes off the road and used him as a meat message?’

  Dodd’s lip quivered, his teeth chattering from the hate and anger flowing from Staubach like boiling air from a ruptured vent. Dodd couldn’t believe what he was about to say, the sentence just seemed to form of its own volition and was spat out before he could bar it. ‘What if there is someone else?’

  The pressure from their forehead contact lessened but Staubach’s eyes still seemed sharp enough to flay his composure. ‘Like who?’

  Dodd shook his head incredulously. ‘The day Lloyd drowned, we had a run-in with Karp, Sam and that girl Karp’s sniffing after. When me and Lloyd started to walk away…’ Dodd felt ill, ‘I felt something trip me up, like it was pulling us down the stairs. But there was no one there, but I know what I felt. Something pulled my leg.’

  A glimmer of sick amusement flittered across Staubach’s stare-down. ‘I think you’re pulling my leg. You think I’m fucking stupid? Maybe your old man slapped you one too many times.’

  ‘There was this slimy shit on the mascot’s leg.’ Dodd had to see this through now. ‘And what about Noakes’s windshield? Remember that, that day in the school lot? It just broke for no reason. Didn’t he say that Garth mentioned there was some funky shit on the glass?’ Dodd was certain a trace of doubt shone through Staubach’s iron-hard bloodshot eyes.

  ‘Just because you’re too chickenshit to do what needs to be done, don’t go blaming some fucking ghost or something. It was Sam, his van probably knocked him off the road. And if it wasn’t him, it doesn’t matter. We just keep killin’ everyone Karp knows until it ends. Now, like it or not, you’re already a part of this and you’re gonna do something for me. Now jump on the back of that fucking bike—’ It happened so quickly that Dodd didn’t even see it happen, he just heard a click and then the next thing he knew five inches of steel were scraping the micro hairs from his cheek; ‘—or I’ll make Private Dodd’s beatings look like love taps.’

  Dodd felt his eyes well up with a helpless grief that would merely burn away under the indiscriminate fury of Staubach’s mission. Defeated, he left the mug of coffee on the grass and slumped across the lawn to his waiting judgement.

  Chapter 34

  The dinner was tasteless, not due to his mom’s poor culinary skills but rather the enormous pit of anxiety and horror which occupied his stomach. It seemed Neil had done well to conceal his delicate state since Helen and Martin were going through the usual humdrum dinner table small talk. But all Neil could think of was Matt falling off that roof, of coming clean to Sam about the dark chapter of his life he had hoped had been permanently redacted, of the knowledge that a bad guy with worse connections had been murdered on his word and the consequences that would most likely follow. Terrible thoughts of gunfire tearing through the house taunted him, receiving another video from Staubach of Sam or Lindsey being executed. To top it all off, he was waiting for the phone to ring or a knock at the door, Matt’s parents finally giving enough of a shit to find out why their son never returned home last night.

  ‘How was school?’ Helen asked.

  Neil quit his random displacement of peas and looked at Helen like he had forgotten she was there. ‘It was okay.’ No way in hell was he going to mention that he blew it off today to introduce Sam to Frogmore.

  ‘Still trying to figure out what you want to do in college?’ Martin poured more gravy on his potatoes.

  ‘Trying,’ Neil admitted. Communication Studies with Homicidal Magical Friends 101. Neil heard a car engine grumble on the street outside and tensed, the knife and fork digging into his palms. This couldn’t go on; until Frogmore was able to end this he needed his parents out of the crosshairs. ‘Weren’t you both going to visit Aunt Jo? You’ve been talking about it for a while,’ he dropped in casually.

  Martin swallowed his food, ‘We spoke about it, but she couldn’t get the time off she needed. We’ll see her at Christmas instead.’ Neil felt fit to explode with nervous energy, channelling the runoff into a continuous and frantic foot tap underneath the table. ‘You’re not trying to get rid of us are you?’ Martin laughed with a wink, ‘Maybe throw a house party?’

  Neil forced a laugh. ‘Yeah, you got me.’ This wouldn’t do, it hadn’t even been a day since Noakes sent that video but already its intended impact was an unmitigated success. He was a nervous wreck, and not only did he need to find some form of safety measure to protect his parents but also a similar method to protect Lindsey. Could he tell her about Frogmore too? Dragging her even deeper? Could he call Frogmore here, now, prove to his parents that all along he had actually been real? How would that play out at the dinner table? He needed to check in on Lindsey, as holding her at arm’s length also kept her blind. His thoughts had him fit to break. ‘Just going the bathroom.’

  In the hall he got his phone out and dialled her, circling the small antechamber as the ringing went on, and on, and on. As he chewed his thumbnail, her effervescent voice finally crashed into him like a wave of calm. ‘Hey, you. Why weren’t you in school today? You were supposed to text me your elaborate excuse.’

  Shit, I forgot. ‘I just wasn’t feeling too good. Bit better now though, just tired I think.’

  ‘Aw,’ she joked, ‘need me to kiss you better? So what are you doing tonight?’

&
nbsp; His confidence was eggshell thin. ‘Keeping it quiet, probably going to have an early night, still pretty worn out. You up to anything?’

  ‘Deb and I are going to watch some awful-slash-awesome Nineties movie called Point Break. You heard of it?’

  ‘I’m offended that you’d think I wouldn’t have.’ A memory of watching it stoned with Matt and Sam emerged from the panic-stoked mess of his thoughts, and he had to compose himself to keep his voice even. ‘You watching it at yours?’ Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes.

  ‘No, I’m heading down to Deb’s soon.’

  Shit.

  ‘I told her I’d be there for half seven, just getting ready now. Did you want to hang out?’

  ‘Nah, it’s cool,’ he lied. ‘Would hate to get on her bad side, stealing all her time with you. Are you getting dropped off?’

  ‘My dad has taken the car.’

  Of course he has. Taking slow steady breaths, Neil imagined her getting abducted on the way to or from Deb’s. ‘Calling a taxi?’

  ‘Pssh, I’m not made of money. And how lazy do you think I am? You know there’s a reason people are getting so fat these days,’ she cracked wise. Neil’s laugh was perfunctory at best. ‘It’s not that far,’ she added.

  He needed to be careful, not wanting to spook her. He could be the only one who could keep her safe, even if such foolish chivalry was intrinsically linked to proxy by Frogmore, and the last thing he needed was to make her think he was some clingy weirdo getting possessive. ‘If you’re free tomorrow then maybe we can do something?’

  ‘I’ll consult my calendar.’ Her tone conveyed the airy humour which felt perverse compared to the doom and gloom leaking slowly out of Neil. ‘Hey, look at that, I can pencil you in,’ she giggled.

  He smiled tightly, wanting it to carry into his voice. ‘Great, great, I’ll let you go then. Those surfing bank robbers aren’t going to laugh at themselves.’

  She made a lip-smacking kiss sound over the phone and hung up. Neil’s thumb tapped erratically against the phone as he considered his next move. Focusing, he beckoned Frogmore to appear, needing him to sense his desperation, but after a full two minutes of strain all he had managed to do was get light-headed. Bastard, where are you? Options were limited. He jumped right back into his phone’s contact list.

  ‘Sam—’

  Sam spoke over him. ‘Matt’s parents just called here. Wondering if he stayed over. Do you have any idea how hard it was to lie to them? Telling them he’s probably okay. They’re going to the police. Not much hope there, right? Who knows, maybe they’ll find his body and Matt might get the funeral he deserves. Because he sure didn’t deserve what happened to him last night.’

  Neil felt a warm trickle run down from his right eye. It felt disgusting to know that he had kick-started this. All over some high school assholes. Now the situation had graduated to tit for tat murder. Rubbing his brow obsessively, Neil sat down on the landing, knowing that there was nothing else he could say or do to Sam to atone. Feeling the moment pressing down on him, he knew that grovelling wouldn’t help any of them, all he could do was spit it out. ‘Sam, could you drive past Lindsey’s place? She’s walking up to Deb’s. Pretend you were on your way to mine and give her a lift to Deb’s house. I’m sorry to ask but I’m losing my mind here.’

  Sam listened to Neil’s rambling urgency and felt a twist of betrayal, slowly heating up with anger. ‘Right, okay, but it’s cool if I’m out there for the easy picking?’

  Neil squeezed his eyes shut, digging his way out of a hole. ‘Course not, don’t be that way. You’ll be in your van, safe. Lindsey is walking up alone, and it’s like a twenty-minute walk.’

  ‘I drive a van, not a Sherman tank. Who says if Staubach or someone sees me they won’t just shoot me?’

  Neil tried to form a sound argument but felt his reasoning collapsing with each frantic beat of his heart. ‘They took Matt in the middle of the night and dragged him God knows where. I don’t think they’re going to be firing shots in the street.’

  ‘That’s bullshit and you know it. We both know who we’re dealing with here and if Staubach is the devil we know then I’m fucking terrified of meeting Noakes’s uncle.’ Neil could almost hear the tone shift in Sam’s voice, thick with revulsion and shock. ‘Why don’t you have that thing keep an eye on her?’

  Neil shook his head at the disparaging remark which seemed so full of barely repressed accusation. ‘I can’t get through to him.’ He slapped his thigh, flustered. ‘I don’t know if maybe he’s already taken care of Staubach, or maybe he’s been injured or killed.’

  Sam sighed in frustration, sounding just as lost and helpless as Neil felt. ‘Fine, I’ll go. I’m more expendable than some girl you’ve been going out with for a week.’

  Neil wiped at the ticklish trail the tear had left. ‘Sam, you know it’s—’ the phone went dead ‘—not like that,’ he finished. Catching his ghostly reflection in the framed painting in the hallway, he had never felt so alone.

  Chapter 35

  Sam had spent a good solid minute staring out the small porthole window of his front door, envisioning phantom strangers lurking in the dark, quiet street, behind every fence, every bush, even underneath his van. The scary thing was, he wasn’t sure if he was being too paranoid or not paranoid enough. His stomach felt like it was congealing raw sewage and he was pretty sure that if he stood there much longer his bladder might actually make the smart decision for him by distracting him from this stupid move.

  He wistfully glanced around the hallway of the quiet house, knowing that both his parents were stranded in their own individual offices, ciphers who were unreachable to his unspoken plight. It was too late to connect with them now. He was on borrowed time and all it would amount to would be the usual empty words and interest, all communication reduced to shallow, rehearsed responses. Pavlov’s dogs for the sociopathic.

  The quiet rasp of car tyres on tarmac preceded the wash of headlights, a family saloon travelling down the street without incident or drive-by. Sam wasn’t even sure what was motivating him at this point. The duty of being a good friend, wanting to help Neil by helping Lindsey? Or maybe just a giant fuck you to the brutal savages who had been picking away at his sanity and security for too long? Grinding the van’s keys into his palm, he took a deep breath, patted the Phillips-head tucked up his jacket’s sleeve and quietly opened the door, stepping quietly onto the porch. The motion sensor went off, lighting him up like a carnival shooting gallery ripe for the bullets of any wrathful snipers. Chagrined at his own rash movement, he quickly fumbled with his decision to run to the van or jump back into the house. With a rapid but delicate movement, he softly shut the door and bounded off the porch steps to the flagged path. With each hasty step he expected a hot bullet to knock him down, his mind drowning in fictional thugs, waiting for them to ambush him any second as the van grew tantalisingly close.

  Sliding the key into the driver’s door he remembered that he hadn’t taken a breath since the porch light went on. It was off now, adding further obscurity to the meagre lighting of the street’s lamp poles and Sam almost wept, wondering if he would ever see his home again. Faced with the reality of impending death, he accepted that there are worse fates than being stuck with indifferent parents, which in turn added clarity to his very purpose. Neil and Matt had been his only true family. That was why he was doing this. Springing into the van and firing up the engine, he braced for gunshots, choking on his held breath until his tight burning lungs informed him that he was already down the road and unscathed. Hands firmly on the wheel, his suspicious eyes became well acquainted with the wing mirrors.

  *****

  Lindsey traipsed down her street at a brisk pace, wanting to keep the chilly evening at bay, the sound of crunching leaves and seasonal entropy losing out to the fifth movement of Bach’s Partita Number 2 in D minor. Having listened to the previous four movements throughout the course of the day she felt a break was needed; unable to c
urrently appreciate the great piece, she skipped her playlist, landing on Weezer’s Island In The Sun. Her cold fingers tugged at the zip of her bomber jacket again, an autopilot response which circumvented higher reasoning.

  Lindsey had passed the block of neighbourhood stores, all dark and locked up tight, and was nearing the fluorescent fly-trap of the bus shelter when she noticed headlights up ahead. The vehicle emerged out from the intersecting dark lane of houses and trees and glided over to her. It was Sam’s van. Lindsey pulled her earphones out as Sam leaned out the window; he smiled congenially but his eyes seemed restless and haunted. ‘I thought that was you.’ He affected a bit more normalcy in his manner. ‘I’m just on my way to see Neil. Where you heading?’

  ‘Deb’s, its bad movie night.’

  ‘Girls do that too, huh?’

  ‘Of course,’ she beamed.

  ‘What’s the movie?’ Sam was eager to get her and himself off the streets but didn’t want to appear fishy.

  ‘Point Break.’

  ‘The original?’

  She nodded, amused by his enthusiasm.

  ‘Man, I love that movie, it’s awful. Jump in, I’ll drop you off.’

  ‘I don’t want to put you out.’

  ‘Nah, it’ll take five minutes.’

  ‘Thanks, Sam,’ she said as she jostled around the front of the vehicle. Sam fired glances up and down the street as she climbed in, expecting every pair of headlights to be those of his encroaching death. He sped away from the curb a little too forcefully and apologised.