Kayla poured coffee into a paper cup, sat at the table.
The sergeant looked at her. Harry wasn’t sure what the look meant, but it meant something.
Kayla sat prim and straight. There were no wrinkles in her cop clothes. There was no expression on her face, but from time to time she looked at him. Her eyes were so green they appeared to be gems.
“All right,” the sergeant said, “Here’s the recap. This guy, one you saw, he killed someone in the past, exactly when, you don’t know, but he did, and you saw him, because you see stuff that’s in sound? That right?”
“That’s about it.”
“Sound?”
“Yep.”
“And I’m supposed to believe it?”
“Doubt you will, but that’s it.”
“And you’re saying the guy did it was Mr. McGuire.”
“I thought so. Now I’m not so sure. But someone was murdered there, and the memory of it was trapped in sound.”
“How long ago you think this murder happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“So you didn’t really see him, but you saw his ghost—”
“Impression, actually. He could be dead or alive. If it’s Mr. McGuire, he’s definitely alive. I probably shouldn’t have said it was him. It’s just who came to mind, because the killer knew the place, knew where the candles were. Guess that’s why he came to mind. Shouldn’t have said it was him, though.”
“You’re right. You shouldn’t have said it.”
Kayla said, “I got a question, it’s okay with you, Sergeant.”
The sergeant lifted his eyebrows, said, “Okay.”
Kayla leaned across the table toward Harry. She really did smell good. “The redheaded guy, can you describe him?”
“Him I saw very well. Redheaded, freckle-faced—”
“In match light?” the sergeant said. “In candlelight?”
“The light was on his face,” Harry said. “He wasn’t a big man. He wasn’t a kid, exactly, but he was young. Maybe my age, maybe some younger. He was as small as a child. The killer was strong though, guy that carried him. Way he carried him, coming down those stairs and all.”
“So the guys you dreamed,” the sergeant said, “the big guy had a coat and hat and the little guy was redheaded and freckle-faced.”
Harry was getting tired of this. He needed a drink. A tall drink.
“Yeah,” Harry said.
“Sure you didn’t try and encourage Miss McGuire to give you sex; sure you didn’t try and rape her?”
“I didn’t.”
“Got to wonder, a story like that. Sounds like something you would make up off the top of your head—”
“It’s not,” Kayla said.
The sergeant shifted in his chair to look at Kayla.
“I know Mr. Wilkes,” she said. “He’s always believed this sound business. He might have some kind of condition, but he’s telling the truth as he sees it.”
“Really?” the sergeant said.
“Yeah, really,” Kayla said.
The sergeant ran a hand through his hair. “Let me explain some things to you, son. What happened tonight, it could get your ass thrown in jail. And I don’t take kindly to men who mistreat women. I don’t take kindly to that at all.”
The door opened. An officer came in, beckoned the sergeant out. “One minute,” the sergeant said. He got up and went out.
Harry nodded at Kayla. She nodded back. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, then Kayla said, “When this big man came into the shelter, he just let the door slam?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t seem surprised by the sound?”
“No. The house isn’t that close, though. You could slam it a lot and it not be heard.”
Kayla nodded as if she already knew that. She had been there, the house and the shelter.
“You smell good,” Harry said.
“Yeah.” She broke her professional demeanor, smiled. “I’m not supposed to wear perfume on the job. But I can’t help myself. I’m addicted to it. Made it myself. From other perfumes. I wear too much, don’t I?”
“Not for me, you don’t.”
The sergeant was back; his attitude had changed. “I’ll make this quick. That was a call from the chief. He wants me to wrap this up. Chief got a call from Mr. McGuire, and he’s not going to press charges. His daughter isn’t either. They just want you to stay away from them and their daughter. Way they see it, some head problems got the better of you. I’m not saying that, but that’s what they say, and the girl, Talia, she says you scared her, but she thinks now you didn’t mean to hurt her. But she doesn’t want to see you again. Said you have a suit she bought.”
“The coat is still in the shelter. I’m wearing the rest of it. I’ll have it cleaned and returned. I’ll give you the tie, cuff links, stuff like that right now.”
“She bought all that for you?”
“Yes, sir. She didn’t like my Bealls suit. And, just for the record, she doesn’t like JC Penney either, and I’d guess she’s not crazy about Sears.”
Sergeant Pale studied Harry for a long moment, nodded slowly.
“Remember this. McGuire and the chief, they’re friends. Very tight. Hang together. Getting my drift? You’re getting a favor done here.”
Kayla walked Harry outside.
“Hey, great to see you,” Harry said. “Now if I could just throw up and shit my pants out here in the parking lot, it would be a perfect day…. Sorry—I talk stupid when I’m embarrassed.”
“That story you were telling, all of that sounds a little stupid.”
“I know. But that’s how it is. You’ve heard a similar story before.”
“I said as much.”
“And I thank you for that. Frankly, I’m kind of used to being thought an idiot.”
“You said you didn’t do that anymore.”
“I lied. I hadn’t seen you in a while, and I didn’t want to touch on the fact that I might be a fucking nut.”
“We could always be honest with one another, Harry.”
“I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Not so long. Not really. You know what I think?”
“What?”
“You need a better class of friends. Girlfriends, for that matter.”
“She wasn’t very nice when you met, was she?” Harry said.
“You didn’t exactly rush in to support me.”
“No. No, I didn’t. I should have. I feel like the biggest dumb cluck in the world. Joey was right. She didn’t give a damn about me. I think she was using me to make another guy jealous. I’m slow on the uptake.”
“You’re trusting.”
“And how kindly that trait has treated me.”
“Wait a minute. Joey? You mean Joey Barnhouse?”
“Yep.”
“He was always such an asshole. I thought he’d be dead by now. Maybe shot while stealing beer from a convenience store.”
“You’ll be happy to know he hasn’t changed…. You know what, Officer? I don’t know how I’m going to get home.”
“I’m going to drive you.”
On the way to his apartment, driving slowly down dark streets, Harry said, “Questions you asked, I get the feeling you might believe me. Not just believe I believe, but that you might think there’s something to it.”
“I’ve thought a lot about what you told me long ago. About the sounds.”
“And?”
“I’m still thinking about it.”
They drove a distance in silence. Harry was thinking about what he had read in the newspaper those long years ago, about Kayla’s dad hanging himself. He didn’t want to bring that up, but he certainly thought about it. Instead, he said, “How was Tyler?”
“Too many churches. Not enough Christians.”
“The school all right?”
“Pretty good.”
“You probably don’t know about it, but my dad died.”
“No. I did
n’t. I’m sorry. He was a nice man. Recently?”
“A while back. Heart attack. Died at home.”
“You probably know about my dad.”
“Saw something in the paper.”
“Pink.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
When they arrived at Harry’s apartment, Kayla pulled to the curb. “It’s the one on top,” he said.
Kayla nodded.
“Maybe we could talk,” Harry said. “Have some coffee sometime. It’s been a while.”
“Sure.”
Kayla wrote down her phone number, gave it to Harry. “Old times,” she said.
42
His apartment seemed a place of long ago and far away, but it had been only a few hours since Harry had sat on the couch waiting for Talia’s call.
No sooner was he in the door than he stripped off the clothes Talia had bought him, draped them over a chair. He put the shoes and socks together and put them under the chair. He sat on the couch in the silk underwear she had bought him and decided to keep them.
He figured, what he’d been through, he’d earned that much. Besides, they were really comfortable. He decided if he gave them back, he was gonna make sure they had a skid highway in the back, something she could remember him by. But no. He was going to keep them.
There was a knock on the door.
Harry got up and went to the window and looked out by moving the curtain slightly. A big man was looking right at him, and next to him, in front of the door, was Mr. McGuire. Still in party clothes.
Harry dropped the curtain.
“Open up,” said McGuire. “We just saw you at the window.”
Curses, thought Harry.
“Open the goddamn door, or Jimmy here will kick it down.”
“I’ll call the cops,” Harry said. “Fact is, I’m doing it right now.”
“Go ahead. I know the chief. He knows I’m here. Count of three, the door comes down,” McGuire said.
Harry opened the door.
McGuire and the moose named Jimmy pushed inside. Unlike McGuire, the moose wore blue jeans and a flannel jacket over a T-shirt.
“What a crummy place,” McGuire said. “You brought my daughter here?”
“Actually,” Harry said, “she preferred the backseat of the car.”
McGuire slapped out at Harry, and Harry stepped back and the slap passed by, and Harry thought: Cool, I’m really starting to learn something. I knew that was coming. I got out of the way, smoothly.
McGuire slapped him with the other hand.
It hurt.
Harry put a hand to his face. Thought, note to self: When you do something smooth and cool, best not to become too caught up in it. ’Cause then you get decooled in the following moments.
“I want you to stay away from my daughter,” McGuire said.
“Hey, I’m through.”
“Others have said as much, and they kept coming around. I know she’s always in heat, but you keep your dog nose out of her ass. Got me?”
“Promise you. I’m done.”
“You’re not done. Jimmy here, he’ll make you done. Like way fucking overcooked.”
Harry glanced at Jimmy. Jimmy didn’t seem too interested. He looked as concerned about this meeting as a pig might be over the proper use of dinner china. He probably had an overdue date with a beer, a nudie magazine, and a handful of Vaseline.
“Jimmy can really fuck you up,” McGuire said.
Jimmy slapped a big fist into a big open palm.
“I don’t want to be fucked-up.”
“Thought not,” McGuire said. “And don’t be spreading lies about me killing someone in the shelter. Visions, my ass. You were trying to impress my daughter and it backfired.”
“I saw something.”
McGuire studied Harry. He put his face close to Harry’s.
“You saw shit. Now forget it. You go around saying things like that…well, I won’t bring Jimmy. I’ll just bring me. I like to have someone else do my dirty work, pay them well. But for you, I might make an exception. Dragging my name through the dirt, that isn’t good. And as for cops, forget it. I could kill your ass and throw you in the riverbottom, bury you out back of the fucking Coke plant, and no one would look for you, and if they found you, one word from the chief and they’d put you back. Got me, pencil dick?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Jimmy, show him something.”
Jimmy came forward quickly, and Harry thought, I ought to do something. I ought to do something Tad taught me, except mostly what I’ve learned so far is concentration and don’t fall over roots. And then Jimmy sent an upper cut into Harry’s belly, and Harry folded with it, tried to relax, and did. It was a good shot, and he felt it, but not like he would have before. He let his breath out and went limp and the punch picked him up some, and when it was over Harry straightened and took in a deep breath. He was hurt, but not destroyed.
Jimmy and McGuire both looked at Harry for a long, odd moment.
“Tougher than you look,” McGuire said. “But nobody’s as tough as they would need to be if I get after them. You got me?”
“I still got you.”
“Good. Now, no more business about the shelter, and stay away from my daughter. Buy you a watermelon, drill a hole in it, fuck that. It’s more fitting to your station in life, which is just under the fucking dirt, southwest of nowhere. Good fucking night.”
They went out then and shut the door, and Harry sat down, feeling the pain in his stomach. Kind of proud of himself, really.
“Nighty-night,” he said to the empty room.
Harry glanced at the suit pants, the fancy shirt on the back of the chair, thought, damn, there was my chance to return that shit. Then he thought: You were just a pet, you idiot. And not even a loved pet. Just a dog she liked for a while, got tired of, was ready to send to the animal shelter. She’s already, this very night, petting another spaniel’s head. A full-blood. Not some mongrel.
He asked himself: In the long run, what did I get out of it all?
Well, yeah. There was that. That was something.
Still, those memories didn’t make him feel as good as he would have liked to have felt. And, of course, seeing someone murdered in the past inside an old shelter—well, really inside his head—squeezing Talia till she hurt, that didn’t work out so well.
Of course, he had met Jimmy. He was starting to get out and meet people. That was a kind of plus. Getting punched by a hired thug. That was new in his life.
He felt emotions wind up in a ball and bounce off the inside of his head, and they weren’t his emotions. They may have been released by his own, but these belonged to time travelers of a sort. Banged and battered, murdered, and in some cases self-destructive souls, released by sound, reverberating in his skull, flashing at the corners of his eyes, knotting up his nerves, squeezing all the juice out.
He hung his head between his knees, then slowly lifted it.
He had done well for a moment there. Took a punch, avoided a slap. But now he was feeling weak. Feeling a lot like he had always felt. And he thought about the sounds lurking. More bad memories and painful emotions ready to leap into his head and ride around on his nerve endings.
Sucked.
He looked about, considered putting the cardboard and egg cartons back. Except he had disposed of them. Maybe he could get more, starting tomorrow. He would have to consult his book, maybe do some research, as he hadn’t been to the Wal-Mart lately, and out back of it was where you found all the good boxes.
But there might have been an accident somewhere near there, so he had to watch that.
He paused.
Nope.
Not going to do that. Won’t slip back into the old ways. No, sir.
I’m one with the universe.
Except for this little snag, of course. It’s not every night you can lose your girl, accuse her father of murder based on visions from the past, get arrested, released, get the cop�
��s number who drove you home.
That part wasn’t so bad.
Course, Kayla was just being friendly. Old times, she said.
Pink?
What did that mean? What was she talking about? Did he misunderstand her?
No. He was fairly certain she had said, “Pink.”
He thought on matters awhile, decided the thing to do was go for a walk. He got dressed and went along the way he knew best, way out along Pecan Street, strolling briskly, hands in pockets, a cool wind on his face. It was the long way to go, not the short way, but the last time he had checked, written in his book, this had been a pretty safe place.
He walked along the familiar route and came to the liquor store and stopped in front of it. He looked at his watch. The store closed in fifteen minutes.
Sometimes you had to break the rules. Shit. He had earned a drink, the day he’d had. He’d earned two drinks. Maybe a whole bottle. Bottles. Beer, that might be the thing. No gin, whiskey, anything like that. Rio Bravo, baby. He could handle it the way Dean handled it. Beer instead of the hard stuff.
He walked inside the store and the counterman looked up, said, “Hey, haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I know.”
“I was thinking you gave it up.”
“No.”
“What’s it gonna be?”
Harry stood his ground, looked around. All the bottles were so bright and inviting; it was like he expected to find a genie inside, one that could grant him the wish of oblivion.
One with the universe. Yeah. He got a few beers in him, that’s exactly how he’d be. Tad was wrong. He had been one with the universe when he was drunk. It was the sober part that fucked him up.
Harry picked up a six-pack of Bud and put it on the counter and took out his wallet. There wasn’t much inside. A few bucks. Enough for this, though. He looked up and the counterman smiled at him. He didn’t know the man’s name, but the man knew him, knew what he wanted. Over the counterman’s shoulder, he saw his reflection in a mirror on the wall.
He looked frantic. His tongue was sticking out of his mouth a little and his face was flushed, and the grin that was around his probing tongue looked to him to be the grin of an idiot.
“One with the universe, my ass,” Harry said.
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