The image of Frederica as little girl shrivels away. Benny feels his body tense while his brain does back flips. Crank is so different, so small. Lyle was straight and tall. Sofia too. Only here, laying all my cards on the table...years back I had found a woman shaped exactly like...
And here is Miss Musa, a dream to smell and feel. She's marriage material. She should find better than me. Younger. Less trouble. He loses his senses. He wants to die. He wants to save Crank, swallow her up, push her away, shoot himself, save the world. She draws out old wounds while stitching them up. Pain and pleasure. The big hairy hands become ardent explorers, patting, groping...
She flinches after Benny's vise of a hand slides down to her rear. Even Haskins, lost in an emotional gutter, feels the tension flare in Crank. She'd been so forward before. Now what?
"I'm sorry, Crank, I--"
She pulls back, sitting on his left leg. "Oh! It's not you. It's me."
She turns her face to hide the blush, spreading like a virus over her white cheekbones. Suddenly she corrects her posture, remembers the call of duty. "Skinny, why don't you drive? We really need to get back."
Skinny slides over to take the wheel. Crank slides off Benny's lap to sit beside him. He watches her sit at an angle, an odd, discomforting position. Like the slowness of daybreak, Benny begins to dwell on things other than his pain. Knuckles crack, signalling a storm on the horizon.
The Aerosedan starts to churn at the beckon of the ignition switch. Skinny slides away from the stone visage on New Market. It judges in silence. It doesn't even wave goodbye.
"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable," Benny whispers.
Crank holds his hand. "You didn't. It's old injuries."
Knuckles crack once more, followed by lightning assumptions in the male mind.
"Well, thanks for listening. I'll, ah, work on getting over it. I want bad to...be done with all of it."
"You don't have to get over it. It's how you handle it, day to day. Like my brother, and how that went, down, you simply..." She smiles at Benny, deep dark eyes lovingly soaking up this man's boyish appearance. But there's a new facet to his look, a studious glare. He's looking too deep. Crank drops her head, lets her hair fall to hide the shame.
"Everybody's worried about Benjamin Haskins' private little war, but I...think I missed out on something. Skinny?"
Skinny lets his own sigh fire off as he matches Benny's gaze in the mirror. "Search me, Brother. I've been with your vomiting behind all day." He wraps the car around Walnut to Broadway, drifting by sleepy green lights, heading back for the Army truck.
The sky lays down gray barbed wire fencing. Snow looks like a certainty. Weather outside trumps the climate in the car. Almost.
Benny cracks his back. It's as if he's sat in a hunch for a decade. The black rainbow begrudging his spirit doesn't leave, but is graceful enough to subside.
The mind's wheelhouse turns more. Benny's gut offers its two cents.
"You sure nothing happened since we've been gone?"
"Vecchio..."
"Crank. Is your dad okay? Did we get more bad news? Is Coursey--?"
Her flinch is palpable. The air in the car thickens again, water of life mixed with stress thickening powder.
"Crank, did Coursey do something he shouldn't have?" Knuckles return to cracking.
She slips a hand down to her hip while gazing out the window. Her back bends, bamboo in a windstorm. Skinny parks the Aerosedan behind the G-505 as Benny rests a hand on Crank's thigh.
"Hey, Kid. I'm here for you. You heard me out, even though I'd rather you hadn't. But I'm grateful. What I mean is--"
"After we interrogated Bobby, Course made an...advance at me. A hard one. It...hurt." She hugs herself, the reminder of the event chilling her bones.
Thing is, Crank cuts in and whispers the words so fast, Benny has to lean back to take it in. It's a verbal sucker punch. He stops breathing. Skinny misses the beat while Benny's head swoons.
No sooner has Skinny turned off the engine, then Haskins asks...
"Skin, the keys still in the truck?"
"Yeah, why?"
The door of the Aerosedan flies open, letting the cold in, and the Brown Bear out. Benny moves with violent passion, running at the truck as if he'll tackle it.
Crank, frozen solid, slides over to slam the door shut. The wind whips her hair into a cyclonic disaster.
"What made him get out in such hurry?" Skinny asks.
"I don't... oh no. Oh no!"
Benny gets the G-505 on the move, burning rubber, a fat U-turn on the sidewalk and down West Broadway.
Skinny loses his marbles. "The h---? I knew letting out the past would be a mistake. Now he's done had a nervous breakdown! Doggone it, Crank!"
"No, no, Skinny! I told him what Coursey did to me only I shouldn't have! Some things shouldn't be--!" She pauses. "Hurry! Get us going after him! We have to get him before he kills Coursey!"
"What do you mean, what Coursey--?" He turns around to see Crank. She's focused on Haskins' escape.
"Skinny, drive! Drive now and fast!"
He forces the key to turn, and swerves the car around into the street. "Darn girls! All these feelings gonna get us killed, an' do Motherville's work for her!"
The G-505 screams bloody murder making the turn onto Front Street. Benny grinds the gear stick as the truck swings side to side, bounces up and down. He enjoys it. Mad as he is, sad as he is, the G-505 is now a gruff extension of those powerful emotions. He speeds up. Drunk on feeling, Haskins catches the rams.
Heh! Crank thinks she can get one over on me! Like a gal could ever..
He bites down on his lip as Lyle's body over his enters the mind. Lyle beating him numb. Lyle chastising him. Nurse Lyle whispering in his ear, her touch hurting as it heals.
Here! The growl begins in his mind before exiting out of Benny's mouth. He swipes drool from his bottom lip. More forces explode, multiple volcanoes of olden times erupt. Regretful magma. Rage at his ex-wife for not even trying to understand him. Tears of lava over soldiers dead in an immortalized war. Never really made love. Never designed his own plane. His home is under siege...
Johnathan Coursey.
In the road he sees translucent figures. Lyle laughing at him. He runs her down. Slicks rise from the asphalt, whirring, giggling like clucking nurses. They fly, shoot phantom bullets, buzz propellers. He runs them down. Then he appears, blond and cocky, self assured. An obstacle.
"Courseyyyyyy!"
He mashes the accelerator.
The Brown Bear is let loose.
"Amazing! Simply amazing how you boys got the new body on La Donna so fast!" Coursey says. "Mechanic Musa will be pleased." He rises on his tiptoes, the leather of his shoes yawning.
The last few hours have been abuzz in labor. Larry, of all people, led the charge. He centers the work on Crank's baby girl. Questions as to why are answered in hushed, hand-over-mouth gestures.
The hangar remains unimpressed. Larry mashes his fourth smoke in the floor. "Yeah. We keep our hands busy on real work, ain't that right boys?"
The pilots nod. Most lean on tables, cradling hot chocolate, observing Coursey like a lab specimen.
"Interesting observation. I thought maybe you were implying I offer no positive contribution to our little outcrop in the boondocks."
Larry points at the Boss, but looks over at the Canadians. "This guy! Oh pal, you bring something to the table alright."
The hangar door screams open. Corporal Carson Wilkes, down to his undershirt and dress slacks, slips in fast. He wrestles the door from the hands of the wind. Seeing Traveler Coursey, he degrades from rapid movement to a more serene strut. He strokes his thin blond mustache. "Ah, fellas, Benjamin has returned. Full throttle." He raises eyes at Larry.
"Hey boys!" Larry claps, filling the hollow hangar with sharp echoes. "Let's hit the town! Gotta be some class acts in this burg, so let's go find 'em!"
The pilots exit, stage left. They push one
another out the door, leaving a bewildered Coursey as he makes his way to his office.
The office door clicks shut as the hangar door explodes.
"My! Are the Slicks early?" Coursey jokes aloud.
He traipses across the room and upstairs, making his way to the desk. Sitting down, Coursey opens a drawer. He pulls out a brown file, unfurls its red string, and thumbs through yellowed pages.
Boots storm up the steps. The storm gets inside, unopposed.
A gentle knock raps on the door.
"Come in," the Traveler says without looking up.
The knock resumes.
"I gave permission already. Come in!"
Door opens, slow, ticking away like a sundial. It reveals a figure, a shadow out of breath. The file consumes Coursey. Whatever it holds is far beyond the attention of a subordinate.
Coursey eyes his file. "Yes, Captain Haskins? What can I--?"
Had eyes been on the prize, Coursey may have been stunned at Benny's degree of speed. But like getting ambushed by a vile razorback, Coursey is unaware, limp, when Haskins’ brutish leg rises over the desk, full charge, to bash the Traveler's face. The head snaps back, cracking the neck.
The rolling leather chair retreats back. As it hits the wall, it turns and pops up, depositing Coursey on the floor. Head numb, limp fingers find a gash from hairline to left eyebrow, bloody rivers run south to meet the ocean of Coursey's dangling mouth. His entire face feels as if it's a waterfall.
He can't even get up on his hands. Other hands assist in helping Coursey off the floor, while lacking any awareness of his condition.
"Benj...min...wai..." The syllables are so fragile. A mouse could plead at a higher octave. Benny slams the Traveler into his chair, pulls back a fist. The first blow slams into the left eye. Two tiny eggshell bones at the eye's base perish. Blows two and three bend the nose before cracking it at a forty degree angle. Blood spouts as Roman fountains. It turns Benny on, the feeding frenzy heightens. Punches roll out like bullets from an M1. In between, the boots are raised to stomp. They stomp ribs, groin, kneecaps.
Right after the floating ribs pop, Benny body slams the Traveler, denting the wall, dusting both men in blood and drywall. Grunting, bestial, Benny pushes down in Coursey's chest, or Lyle’s, for he sees both. Smother. Smother!
He lifts up, taking Coursey by the shirt. Benny heaves, snorts, hurls Johnathan up and over the desk. He crashes into the floor before the door, landing wrist first. The wrist surrenders to breaking, carpals twist like straws on a broom. Benny wastes no time. He picks the chair up over his head, throws it. The metal base and it's wheels collide into Coursey's coccyx before somersaulting toward the doorway. It just misses Skinny Bubba.
"Benny, stop!" Skinny shoves the chair back into the room, and takes a defensive crouch over the Traveler.
Benny storms around the desk, ignoring Skinny, fingers flexing like panting lions. Skinny's been here before in life, more than he'd care to admit. "C'mon, man. You proved me wrong about white folks, now. Don't go switching up on me. He’s foul. You got your digs in. Let it go."
Benny sees through him. Crank peeks into the room, inhaling stuttered wisps of air upon seeing the Hindenburg disaster of Coursey's face. Benny rushes. Skinny charges, taking Haskins at the knees and hoisting up. He pins Benny's back against the desk, and the fists fly. Benny hammers away, but Bubba blocks and parries to well. Wrestling against boxing. Skinny's done this a million times, patron saint of ending fights. His brother. His cousins. Random folks in bars. Benny gets in a few licks, but the difference between smashing Coursey versus contending with Skinny is the difference between apples and the meteor that wiped out the dinosaurs.
"Benny!" Crank finds herself screaming like a child. She can't think of getting between the men's suffocating brawl. She kneels down to apply pressure to Coursey's nose. Her hands tremble. Heck, her entire body quivers while she gushes tears of terror.
Skinny blocks and punches Benny in the diaphragm. It buys him a few seconds while Benny turns beet red.
"I get you, Benny. I get. You. But it's over. You push past this and..." One hand snatches Benny at the neck. The other glides down to showcase the grip of Clarice, ready and waiting.
Benny wrestles a bit. Skinny squeezes and grabs the gun. "We can't have this now." They shift positions, but he feels Benny wearing down. Skinny puts the barrel into Benny's gut.
"We. Can't." Click.
Benny realizes who he's fighting. Eyes now meet instead. Skinny nods, waiting for his brother to do the same. He does, a slow imitation. As he does, Haskins' eyes well up.
"She shouldn't have to go through it," Benny gasps. The well overflows. His legs and fists slacken. Tears run down.
"I know, man. I know." Clarice returns to her post, the hammer quietly stilled.
"I went through it. Nobody shou--" Benny can't complete the word. He falls away to a lifetime of anguished crying. Skinny takes up a new hold now, a brotherly hug. Benny goes limp. The office bleeds and sobs. Crank cries more than most.
"Sooooooofffft."
Crank looks down. Skinny looks back. It's Coursey. Somehow, his jaw continues to move.
"Yu...you...errr...all ssssoooo.....sssoofffft."
Crank, almost certain the Traveler giggles after the insult, let's go of his head from her lap. It taps the floor. He sleeps. She catches movement out of the corner of her eye.
"What have you people done?" Doctor Wentz is at the door. Her beauty diminishes as her skin loses its glow. Her mouth hangs. Lightning speed, she leaps to attend to Coursey, shoving Crank away, mugging her face.
"Hey!" Skinny and Benny yell. They break up to advance on the doctor, but Crank's on the rebound fast.
"Do you have any idea what he's really like?" Crank asks by mouth, and by snatching Wentz by the hair. She rolls it up in her fist while her right one poses a different sort of question to the doc's chin.
Vera Wentz falls back, uttering a feminine cry of pain. She gets up just in time to deflect Crank's next strike. Skinny is first to reach the scene, pulling Miss Musa away. Vera returns to Coursey.
"Stupid dago, of course I know how my husband really is!"
Crank fights hard, but if Benny couldn't break the chains of Bubba, well..
"Husband!" Benny gets his thinking brain back. He wipes away years if salty agony, gently tugs Crank from Skinny's grip. He squeezes Bubba's shoulder. They exchange thanks and appreciation by looks. "You're married to this joker!"
"He's a leader in a vicious war," she says, cradling his head, daubing his face with a white hanky. Her eyes well up. "He has needs, stress is intolerable. When we were stationed in Michigan last year, after my first husband died, he gave me what I needed. I give him what he...marriage. No sin. No regrets."
"Then where's your ring you--?" Crank froths. Benny hugs her tight, but she only sees Wentz dying in her mind. Crank kicks air, barks into Benny's broad bicep.
"ST doesn't allow it between officers. Don't you know anything? It's a secret. He can have me how he likes. I don't have to be...alone. He stays calm, no lurking for other girls who can't be...relied on."
"He's still lurking," says Benny.
Vera looks at the trio. She sees one of Skinny's fingers point the way to Crank.
"No. He promised." The doc finds her throat is swelling.
"Tell her, Crank." Benny edges his girl forward.
Crank charges, fists raised. Vera flinches.
"In the stairwell, after the interrogation. He hurt...me!"
"I don't believe--"
Crank raises a finger at the men. She takes Wentz by the collar, dragging her into the short Hall and shutting the door. Benny waits. Skinny checks to ensure Coursey is breathing. He is.
The door creaks open again. Doctor Wentz staggers backward. "That's a...severe bruise," she whispers. Suddenly, she's pinned to the door by Crank.
"You got one second to--"
"I'm sorry I called you a dago. I--I--" now she's a sobbing wreck.
Crank supports her as they slide to the floor.
"He promised." She places her face close to Coursey's. "You promised! I let him....to keep him..."
The men watch her, watch Crank lean on the door, the weight of the day beginning to show on her. Benny gazes down at the blood on his hands, deep into the fingernails. The office seems removed from reality, a personal hell Benny whittled by hand. The Municipal Building's plump face hovers in his head, blank judgment, penetrating black stare. Salem doesn't want him here. He doesn't want to be here. Pride doesn't show. Guilt, though, that fiend jumps on board real quick.
"We're the people expected to save Down Jersey?"
"No, Brother," whispers Skinny, "we're the people what's supposed to save the whole doggone country."
That's when they hear the calamity.
THEY ARE DIVIDED...THEY ARE DIVIDED.....I MUST GROW...I MUST GROW... FEED ME...FEED ME...STAGE FIVE...STAGE FIVE...CONQUER THE COUNTY SEAT...CONQUER THE COUNTY SEAT...
The hand separates from the wrist in three pops and a sizzle. It leaks inky fluid, very little blood. Veins are sealed. Metal wires move in clicky succession. The wrist slides out if the handcuff. The left hand picks up the detached right, shifting it back onto the wrist in a sucking clap.
Bobby Meyer, dead gazed, is on the move.
CONQUER THE COUNTY SEAT..
He ambulates from the bed. Bending at ninety degrees, he puts boots on his feet, laces left untied. Moving with absolute purpose, greasy hair flipping, Bobby opens the drawers of Doctor Wentz's desk.
Papers. Files. Makeup. Stethoscope. Syringes. Gloves. M1911 handgun. Two clips.
He ties a clip to each string on the hospital gown. The gun he tucks into the wide pocket. A pack of matches as well. Keys to the hangar, and an Aerosedan. Check.
CONQUER THE COUNTY SEAT...
Bobby Meyer makes for the door to the stairwell. He sneaks upstairs. Door open, eyes watching. People are screaming in the office above. The hangar is otherwise unoccupied. Bobby exits the stairs for the hangar door.
Down Jersey Driveshaft Page 15