Teacher's Pet

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Here,” he said. She took it reluctantly and held it out away from her body as though it already dripped with blood.

  “It’s heavy,” she said.

  “Makes it easier,” Gary said. “And faster.”

  “I don’t know if I can…” Her voice was so thin, it was nearly a whisper.

  “You’ll be able to when the time comes,” Johnny said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  He turned as Gary unpacked the large, black plastic bag and unfolded it before him. Sheila stared down at it and pulled herself back against the office wall. Her face had paled considerably and her lips were nearly white, but only Johnny noticed. Gary was wrapped up in his preparations.

  “Take it easy,” Johnny said to her. “Just concentrate on the plan and remember the things Mr. Lucy told us.”

  “I’ll try,” she said.

  “Don’t fuck up,” Gary snapped.

  “I said I’ll try.”

  “All right,” Johnny said. “It’s getting too close to the time. Let’s not have any bickering now.”

  “Right,” Gary said. “Shit,” he said. “I forgot to turn out the lights in the outer office. He won’t come in unless he feels it’s safe.”

  “Do it. Quickly,” Johnny commanded.

  “That’s what I mean,” Sheila said when Gary left the inner office. “We can make a mistake and…”

  “We won’t.” Johnny was getting tired of buoying her. He was growing nervous himself as the clock ticked on. The outer office lights went off and Gary returned.

  “Any minute now,” Gary said. Johnny just nodded. His eyes burned with excitement. He looked from Sheila to Gary and then back to Sheila. She was frozen in position. The silence was so thick and intimidating it threatened to crash through their forced discipline. Sandy’s voice finally broke it.

  “Where are you?” she called from the outer office door.

  “Back here,” Gary responded. “Where we’re supposed to be.” He looked at Johnny and smiled.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Sandy said as she came through the outer office.

  “That’s all right. We just got here ourselves,” Johnny said. He and Gary and Sheila stared at her. She nodded and turned her head slightly to the rear to indicate that Richard Slattery was right behind her, probably entering the outer office right now.

  “All right,” Gary said, “why did you want us to have this emergency meeting?”

  “I told you I was talking to Richard Slattery,” she said.

  “Big deal,” Gary said, loud enough for anyone hiding in the outer office to hear him clearly. “I saw you talking to him. If you want to go slumming, it’s not our fault.”

  “Let her talk,” Johnny said. “What’s going on?”

  “He knows what you two did to Mr. Zola,” she said and closed Gary’s father’s office door a little more. Johnny imagined that was a prearranged signal between her and Slattery.

  “What do you mean, he knows? How can he know anything?” Gary asked, pretending anger. “Unless you said something to him.”

  “I didn’t say anything to him, but he knows. Mr. Zola told him,” she added.

  “What’s he going to do about it?” Johnny asked and began gesturing frantically at Sheila to get into the conversation.

  “He…he can’t do anything about it,” Sheila said. Her eyes widened as Gary and Johnny started toward the outer door. “He doesn’t have any proof.”

  “She’s right,” Gary said. He was at the doorway. Johnny slipped out first. “How’s he going to do anything without any real proof? And what did Zola tell him anyway?”

  “Zola told him…” Sandy began her long, slow recapping of Slattery’s story. Gary went out behind Johnny and they moved quickly around the building to the front. Gary carried his hammer in his right hand and the plastic bag in his left. Johnny crouched below the window and made his way to the front door. He paused and then peered in through it.

  Slattery was squatting by the inner office door. Only a thin ray of light emerged from behind it because of the way Sandy had closed it. He had his tape recorder on the floor and he was struggling to get a view of Sandy within. Johnny raised his hammer to indicate all was clear and then he charged through the outer office door, Gary right behind him.

  Slattery didn’t hear them until they were halfway across the outer office. He started to rise, shocked and surprised by their appearance, but before he was completely standing, Johnny delivered the first blow. The hammer struck Slattery right in the center of his forehead. His moan was cut short and he fell back against the wall. Almost simultaneously, Gary struck him in the center of his head. He was sure he felt the skull bone give way.

  Sandy opened the inner office door, flooding the lobby with light. Slattery had fallen to his right and was attempting to feign off another blow. Sandy looked at the two boys and then swung her hammer laterally, striking Slattery at the base of his skull. The blow drove him forward to his stomach.

  “Sheila!” Johnny screamed. She appeared in the doorway. “It’s your turn,” he said. She looked down at the crumpled body. Slattery groaned and twitched. Sandy pulled her forward, practically pushing her on top of him. “Strike him,” Johnny demanded. “Strike him for Mr. Lucy.”

  “Strike him,” Gary repeated.

  “For Mr. Lucy,” Sandy said.

  Sheila raised her hammer and then brought it down on Slattery’s back, losing her balance and falling over him in the process. She screamed until Johnny grabbed her tightly, squeezing her face to stop the shouts.

  “You’ll bring someone to the yard,” he said. “Shut up.”

  She quieted down immediately. Johnny helped her to her feet and the four of them gazed down at the still body of Richard Slattery. After a moment Gary went to his knees and began pulling the plastic bag over the body.

  “Help him,” Johnny commanded, but Sheila shook her head. She looked close to shock. “Damn it.” He got down on his knees, too, and helped pull the bag up the body until Slattery was completely submerged within it. Then Gary tied the top closed.

  “Maybe he’s not quite…dead,” Sandy said.

  Johnny looked up at her and then down at the bag.

  “Down here,” he commanded. “Everyone on your knees. Now!” he shouted at Sheila. She and Sandy got to their knees and the four of them surrounded the bag. Gary handed Sheila’s hammer back to her and then he and Johnny picked up theirs. Sandy still had hers in her hand. “Raise them,” Johnny commanded. “Higher,” he said, looking at Sheila. All four hammers wavered in the air above them. “For Mr. Lucy,” he said.

  “For Mr. Lucy,” Gary repeated. Sandy closed her eyes as though she needed to conjure Mr. Lucy’s face before her.

  “For Mr. Lucy,” she said.

  “For Mr. Lucy,” Sheila added quickly, and then at Johnny’s signal, all four hammers came down on the body.

  They pounded and they pounded until Sheila’s sobbing brought it to an end.

  When Gary was a preschooler, his father occasionally would bring him to the lumberyard. At the age of four and five, he didn’t mind going there; and even during most of his elementary school years, he enjoyed hanging around the men and the machinery. His father had a yardman then, Whitey Stone, a forty-year-old Englishman who still had traces of an accent even though he had been living in America for nearly twenty years. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with hard, long arms and enormous hands. He had a physical strength that seemed to radiate around him and he was the kind of man for whom groups of people would part.

  Everyone called him Whitey because his blond hair was so light it looked white. Gary didn’t like him so much as he was in awe of him. Even on the coldest days, Whitey would work in a T-shirt, his muscles outlined emphatically under the thin material. Gary would stand on the sidelines, preferably undetected, and watch him work for hours.

  From the first day they met until the day before Whitey disappeared from the yard, he never talked down to Gary. It was amusing, but even a bit fr
ightening, to see a grown man, especially one as big as Whitey Stone, talk to him as though he were one of the men in the yard. Whitey’s voice didn’t change tone the way other adults’ voices changed whenever they spoke to him, and Whitey gave him orders and made requests with an apparent disregard to his age and size. “Go get this tool; go get that. Go tell your father this. Bring these measurements to the office.”

  Whitey was certainly a large part of what made the yard interesting for him. One day, Whitey noticed Gary watching him loading some new lumber onto the bins in one of the storage buildings. He paused in his work, wiped his forehead with the handkerchief he had in his back pocket, and gestured for Gary to come closer.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” Gary said. He looked back toward the office. His father had already forgotten he had brought him along.

  “Bored already, huh?”

  “I don’t know.” He didn’t know what it was to be bored, but he didn’t think to ask.

  “How would you like your own clubhouse?” Whitey asked. “Your own secret clubhouse?”

  Gary’s eyes lit up with interest. He had seen the kids on the television show, The Brady Bunch, building their own secret clubhouse, so he knew what it was.

  “Where?”

  “Oh, there’s a good one in here,” Whitey said. Gary looked into the storage building. He never liked going in them that much. There wasn’t a great deal to interest him, just different kinds and sizes of lumber piled on shelves.

  “I don’t see it.”

  “That’s because it’s a secret. Half these guys work around here and don’t know what the hell’s going on. Come on,” Whitey said. He led Gary into the storage building to a far right corner. There he took a broom that was against the wall and brushed some sawdust off the floor. Gary studied the spot. Gradually, he made out the outline of a small trapdoor. “It’s a crawl space,” Whitey explained. “Not a full basement, just enough to get around under there. Grown men have to squat and all, but you could practically stand up. It goes all the way to the end of the building, but you don’t need all of it. Just make something for yourself here,” he said, indicating the immediate spot.

  Whitey opened the door and Gary looked down with interest.

  “It’s dark in there.”

  “Well, if you want a secret spot, there it is,” Whitey said. He held the door up a while and then lowered it. He looked at Gary and shook his head. “When I was a kid, that would be great,” he said, and walked away.

  Gary stared down at the door, but it took him quite a while to get up enough courage to open the door and go down there. It didn’t happen until days later. When he got over his initial fear, he enjoyed it. He enjoyed being able to hide away from his father and crawl to the ends of the building and observe people through the cracks undetected.

  After he stopped going to the lumber yard, after he had reached the point where he could be left on his own at home, he rarely thought about the secret hiding place. Occasionally, he would remember Whitey Stone and think about the days he spent crawling under the storage building and pretending different things.

  But when they had discussed their plan at Mr. Lucy’s, the old hiding place came to him quickly, emerging from his memory so fast it was almost as though it had been meant for this purpose. No one ever went down there anymore; few rarely did when he was using it as a secret clubhouse. It was the perfect spot.

  “Thank you, Whitey Stone,” he said aloud as he and Johnny carried Richard Slattery’s body in the black plastic bag across the yard. They had dropped his tape recorder in it as well. The girls followed, Sheila, zombielike, but Sandy at her side carrying the flashlight. Gary had already told Johnny who Whitey Stone was so he didn’t ask.

  “How much farther?” Sandy asked.

  “We just have to go in here, the first storage building,” Gary said, and gestured toward it with his head. “Hold it,” he said when he reached the open bin. “Shine the light in there.” Sandy did so. “Just keep close to the wall,” he told Johnny and he led their way. As they turned and twisted, it was apparent that the body was growing increasingly heavy.

  “You want to rest awhile?” Johnny asked him.

  “No. It’s just ahead. Shine the light up toward that corner,” he told Sandy. She looked at Sheila and then walked past the boys. “OK,” Gary said, “right here.”

  “Where?” Johnny said.

  “That’s the beauty of it. Nobody even gives a shit about it. It’s always covered with sawdust and crap.”

  He and Johnny lowered the dead body to the floor and Gary began to brush away the crawl space door. Sandy stood there holding the light on the spot. Sheila remained a few feet behind in the shadows. Gary pulled the door up abruptly and reached for the flashlight. Then he went down and shined the light about for a few moments.

  “Well?” Johnny said.

  “Just reliving old memories.”

  “Great time for it.”

  “All right, no sweat. Here, Sandy, hold the light,” Gary said, and reached up to take hold of the bag. Johnny slid the end toward the opening and they lowered the body into the crawl space. After the body was completely below, Johnny jumped in and helped Gary pull it along so it was well within the bowels of the building. Satisfied where they had put it, they both crawled out.

  “Finished?” Sandy asked.

  “There’s nothing else to do,” Gary said.

  “Someone’s going to find it,” Sheila said. It was the first thing she had said since they carried the body out of the office.

  “No one’s going to find it because no one ever goes down there.”

  “Someone might someday,” she said.

  “Someone might…smell it,” Sandy said.

  “They got a point,” Johnny said. He wondered why Mr. Lucy hadn’t made more of it. He didn’t seem as intent about the afterward as he did about the plan to get Slattery.

  “So what’d’ya want to do, carry it somewhere else?”

  “No. What we should do is bury it under there.”

  “Now? It’s freezin’.”

  “We gotta do it before the ground gets frozen,” Johnny said.

  “How about tomorrow night? Just you and me,” Gary said and looked toward Sheila.

  “All right. It shouldn’t be any problem leaving it there for just one day.”

  “I could do with something hot to drink,” Gary said.

  “Everyone come over to my house,” Sandy said. “I’ll brew some tea.”

  “Maybe we should go to Mr. Lucy’s,” Gary said.

  “No,” Johnny said quickly. “He made a point of telling us not to do that. We’ll call him from Sandy’s.”

  “All right,” Gary said. “Well, come on,” he said, snapping Sheila out of a daze, “let’s get the hell out of here.”

  The four of them moved out of the yard quickly. Gary locked the gate behind him. For a moment they all stood there looking back through the darkness. Then, they started back up Chestnut. The sight of Slattery’s car parked at the corner brought them to a halt.

  “The police will find it here,” Sheila said quickly.

  “So what?” Johnny said. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s not far from the lumber yard,” she replied, but almost immediately she saw that there would be little meaning in that for anyone who wasn’t in on it.

  “It’s not far from Samuels Dairy either,” Gary said.

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” Johnny said. “Forget about it,” he added, but once again, he wondered why Mr. Lucy hadn’t brought it up during their discussions. Surely he must have realized Slattery would have his car. “Listen,” Johnny said, “maybe it’s not a good idea for us to all be seen walking together. Let’s split up. You girls go on together.”

  “But you’re coming to my house, aren’t you?” Sandy asked. Johnny could see that she didn’t want to be left alone with Sheila.

  “Yeah. We’ll be there in a few minutes. Go on,” Johnny s
aid. He watched them hurry off. Their splitting up was another thing Mr. Lucy should have thought about during the planning. Maybe he is just showing me that he has faith in me, Johnny thought. Maybe he knew I would think of these things.

  “Sheila’s pretty shaky,” Gary said.

  “She’ll tighten up once we all meet again with Mr. Lucy.”

  “I wish we could have met with him tonight.”

  “It’ll be all right,” Johnny said. But now he, too, wondered why Mr. Lucy was so insistent that they not go to his place afterward. “Come on. Let’s cut through Crammer’s backyard,” he said, and moved into the darkness, Gary right behind him. They moved in silence and without hesitation, driven by the vivid images of the violence they had just committed.

  They all gathered in the kitchen of Sandy’s house. Under the bright light, Sheila looked even paler than before. Gary, coming down from his own peak of excitement and nervousness, was the most talkative. He began the moment he and Johnny entered the house.

  “It was smooth; it was easy; it went well. We did it so fast it seems more like a dream,” he said as they all took seats around the table. Sandy had gone right to brewing the tea. She wanted to keep busy and keep Sheila busy. Sheila set the table without saying a word. “All we have to do now is stay cool.” He looked about for confirmation, but the others were staring down at the cups. “Hey, anyone listening to me?”

  “Yeah, we heard you,” Johnny said.

  “Why the long faces? We did what we had to do, didn’t we?”

  “Of course,” Johnny replied quickly. He looked to Sandy.

  “Yes,” she said. Sheila only nodded slightly.

  “So? Let’s forget it.”

  “Forget it?” Sheila asked. She asked it so quickly and so emphatically, everyone else felt jolted back to reality. “How can you forget it?”

  “He doesn’t mean to actually forget it,” Johnny said. “He means don’t let it dominate your every thought.”

  “Those were Mr. Lucy’s exact words,” Sandy said. “Remember?”

  “I remember,” Sheila said, “but it’s easier said than done.”

  “Hey, shouldn’t we have called him by now?” Gary asked. Sandy looked to Johnny. He nodded and got up.