by Travis, Todd
“I know. Same thing happened to me, I tried showing it my foster dad and got zip. The minute he left, it showed.”
“I don’t get how that’s possible.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
“I don’t think she believed me, about the story. She … I don’t know.”
She looked past him and he turned. A car pulled into the lot and a man climbed out. Darin recognized him as the head waiter who threw Healy out on the night of their senior trip.
“Okay, here we go. I don’t have any of that shit on my face, do I?” Darin asked. Valerie shook her head. Darin climbed out of the car and approached the man, who stood outside the front door and lit a cigarette.
“Excuse me,” Darin said. “Hey. You remember me? I was in here last week, with my class, for a dinner?”
The man stared at Darin and recognized him but tried not to acknowledge it at first. “We get a lot of people at our restaurant, we’re very popular.”
“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure you remember us. You had my teacher thrown out. Because he was bothering Mr. Herman. He was being an asshole and you had him tossed out on his ass.”
The man took a drag of his smoke and shrugged. “So?”
“So I’d really like to talk to Mr. Herman.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do, it’s important. I don’t mean him any harm, he sat and talked to us, remember? I just want to talk to him again.”
“Can’t help you.”
“Come on, he’s probably in here all the time, right? That’s why you know him so well, that’s why you had my teacher tossed out. Does he own this place, or what?”
“No, he doesn’t and if he did, I wouldn’t tell you anyway. You don’t want anything to do with him, trust me on that. Just leave it be, kid, okay?”
The man turned to go inside. Darin grabbed his arm.
“Listen, you don’t understand, it’s very important …”
The man knocked Darin’s hand off his arm and spun around, hands up. Darin snapped and grabbed the waiter by the shirt, shaking him.
“Tell me!” Darin roared.
“Get your fucking hands off—”
“Hey!” a shout stopped them both. “Stop it!”
Valerie had climbed out of the car. She’d put more makeup on, a lot more. She was more goth now than she’d ever been and the look clearly resonated with the waiter.
“We really need to find Mr. Herman. Understand?”
The waiter paled when he saw her and backed away, his hands up.
“Okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize … please, I got kids, just don’t …”
Darin shook his anger off, surprised at himself.
“Where is Herman?”
“I haven’t seen him since the night you were here. He’s usually in every other day, but he hasn’t been in since then. I don’t know where he is.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s … he’s Mr. Herman. He’s just a local … character …”
“Why are you so scared of him?”
The waiter glanced at Valerie, afraid. “I’m not going to say it out loud, but if you’re here, looking like that, I’d guess you already know why. Bad things happen to people who don’t do what Mr. Herman wants. Really bad things.”
“How long has he been coming in to your place?”
“Years, I think, but I’ve only been working here for three. I heard, when I first started, that he used to come in with a couple friends who dressed like he does, but since I’ve been at this restaurant, he’s always by himself, except for his girls, but the girls usually change every month or so.”
“You said he’s local? He lives around here?”
“I can’t … okay, he’s got a penthouse apartment not far from here, down the street a few blocks away. You can’t miss it, it’s the building with the stone angel out in front. You can ask the doorman for him. Just … please. I told you everything I know. Don’t … I’ve got kids and … they need me.”
The waiter backed away, his hands up, and practically ran inside the restaurant.
Chapter Forty-Two
The situation repeated itself at the expensive condominium where Mr. Herman lived. They found it easy enough, and walked up to the doorman who initially ignored them until he caught Valerie’s gothic look. Darin had added a touch of shadow to his own eyes, enhancing his look as well. It worked. The doorman was scared and solicitous to the point of groveling.
“I’m so sorry, but I haven’t seen Mr. Herman in nearly a week,” the man said, nervous. “In fact, when he left, he said he wouldn’t be back. I was surprised, to be honest. He’d been with us for years. I asked him where he was going, and he said he was going back home, finally.”
“Where is home?”
“I don’t know, he never told me and, well, one doesn’t ask Mr. Herman personal questions, he doesn’t like them. I have his mail piled up but he didn’t leave a forwarding address.”
Darin and Valerie looked at each other. The doorman coughed and leaned close to whisper to them. “Between you and me, I think he was sick or something.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He didn’t look well, and he wasn’t … he wasn’t his usual self. That’s all I can say.”
“What’s Herman’s first name?” Valerie asked.
“His first name IS Herman, of course. His full name is Herman Gurvitz, but everyone called him Mr. Herman. I’m sorry, but that’s all I know. He always avoided personal questions; he didn’t like people poking into his business.”
Darin looked at Valerie, brought out his phone and clicked on a picture he’d taken of the crying bridge. “Have you ever seen this bridge?”
“Bridge? Is this some sort of joke?”
Darin blinked, then turned his phone so that he could see it. The screen was black, as if the picture had been blacked out.
“Never mind. Thanks for your help,” Darin said. They left the doorman and walked out to the car, stumped. Darin clicked on his photo library and the bridge picture came back up, this time visible.
“What do we do now?” Darin asked.
“We find Herman Gurvitz. You drive, find your Marine recruiting station and do what you have to do for your cover story. I’ll hit the web.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Darin walked out of the Portland Marine recruiting station with his phone to his ear and a bunch of papers in hand. Valerie sat in the car, bent over her phone, tapping away with studious intent. Darin climbed in, still listening.
“Uh-huh,” he said into the phone. “One more day, at least. I mean, I just want to find out if I can handle this, if I decide to do it. They have a Navy and Army recruiting quarters not far away, too, so I can stop in there, but I’d rather hang around and take the Marine physical and fitness test tomorrow morning first, just to … nah, one of my buddies, like I said. He’s gonna get us a room. Ed, you haven’t met him yet. He’s cool. He’s probably going to sign up. You’ll e-mail the signed PDF release by tomorrow, right?”
He shut the door and glanced at Valerie, who looked up. He continued.
“Yeah, I won’t sign anything official without checking with you guys, first. But this way I get a lot of the early stuff taken care of. And then if I don’t like it, I’ll check out the Army and Navy places. Okay. Yeah, we’ll be fine. Just a cheap room somewhere. Nobody will be drinking, no way, not with the fitness test at eight in the morning. And I don’t mess with that, you can even piss-test me when I get home, if you want. I’m just offering. Okay. Yep. I’ll call or text you. Thanks.”
He hung up and shook his head.
“You’re such a clever little liar,” Valerie said.
“I haven’t lied that much, only about being with Ed, I actually did go in there and listened to their bullshit. They actually DO have a fitness test at eight. I will have regrettably changed my mind by then. It’s such a scam, what they’re running in there. I’ll tell them I caught the movie Platoon on late night tele
vision and it scared me from doing it. So what’d you find out about our guy?”
“There is almost no information about Herman Gurvitz online, I mean, he’s very nearly a cipher. I found just one reference and picture. He graduated high school in nineteen ninety-four in a small town called Waukee. There’s a picture, here.”
She held up her phone. A young and very geeky Herman Gurvitz grinned at the camera.
“It looks a little like him. Before he went all goth.”
“That’s him. But I thought he was older. Ninety-four? That means he’s only, what, thirty-six or something? He looked at least fifty, even with all that makeup.”
“I know, but this is the only picture I could find. It does look like him, doesn’t it?”
“So where is Waukee?”
“Five hours away.”
“It’d be nighttime by the time we get there.”
“Then we’d better get going. Right?”
He smiled at her. “Right.”
Chapter Forty-Four
“THIS IS GETING CRAZY HEAR. WHERE R U? SHAKES IS SKARING ME,”—text message from Ed.
“DUDE, HAVE YOU HEARD FROM VALERIE? SHE’S NOT RETURNED ANY OF OUR TEXTS OR CALLS. WE NEED TO MAKE SURE THAT SHE HASN’T COMPROMISED THE CIRCLE,”—text message from Shakes.
Chapter Forty-Five
A thunderstorm hit hard when they were about twenty miles away from Waukee, rain battering the windshield with such a fury that Darin had to pull over and wait for it to abate.
“We’re not going to be able to find him in this mess, not tonight,” Valerie said. “There isn’t anywhere to stay in Waukee, it’s even smaller than Radford. There’s a place off the interstate, about ten miles from here, where they have restaurants and motels. We should find somewhere to stay there and hit Waukee in the morning.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“The only thing is …”
“What?”
“I didn’t think about this, but they won’t rent us a room without a credit card. And ID. And last I checked, neither of us is eighteen, which means …”
“I got a fake ID. And a credit card in that name, too.”
“You do?”
“It’s a bad fake ID, but good enough to work for something like this. I won’t put the room on the card, I’ll pay in cash, but you need the card to hold it.”
“Fake ID, fake credit card. You’re so bad,” she said and he thought she was teasing him, if only a little bit. He liked it.
“Not bad enough, at least, not yet.”
The rain let up a bit and he pulled out on the freeway. He could see the signs advertising the next stop already.
“It’s probably better if I don’t go in the office with you, though,” Valerie said. “They get suspicious and ask ME for an ID, we’re in trouble. Better if you act like you’re alone, all by yourself. Get a room in the back, I’ll sneak in.”
He glanced over at her. “That means just one room.”
“It does, yep.”
“One bed.”
“I can do the math. Promise to behave yourself?”
“I’ll promise if you promise.”
Valerie smiled at him. He liked that smile.
They had dinner at a Denny’s. They both ate well but didn’t talk much during the meal. Darin didn’t want to admit it, but he was thinking an awful lot about being alone in a room with Valerie overnight. His phone was buzzing with text messages, nearly all of them from Shakes. Valerie got them, too. They both ignored them.
They got a few unusual looks from the staff and other diners, which confused him until he caught their reflection in the window. They were both slowly turning more and more goth. He took a napkin and wiped off what he could from his face.
“Good look for you. Not so good a look for me,” he said ruefully.
“Before we get the room, I’m going to throw all the makeup I can find into the dumpster, everything in my purse, in the car,” she said. “I’ll find it all and toss it.”
“I don’t think it’ll do any good.”
“I’m going to try anyway.”
“You know what’s weird? Sometimes I think I’m starting to like it. It’s like I have to make myself wipe it off and there’s a part of me that gets mad at myself when I do.”
“Yeah, I know. Me, too.”
“And I’ve been feeling … I don’t know, like you said, like there’s some sort of dark alien thing inside me … like you said before. The day before Goodwin died, he confronted me and there was a part of me that wanted to kill him right then and there, I mean … it’s not me. I mean, I’m not no saint, but … I wanted to rip his eyes right out. I really, really wanted to hurt him. Not just him, but … a lot of people.”
“I know, me too. That’s how I knew something was wrong. Usually the only person I want to hurt is myself.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Darin got a room at a Motel 8 without a problem, one near the back where no one could see them coming or going, not that they’d be able to in the storm anyway, and once inside, they both stood there, indecisive. They were all wet from the rain, to add to their issues. He wiped his eyes.
“Okay. Well. Shower?”
“You first,” she said. “I tend to take a long time. Give me the room key, I want to run over to the convenience store and pick up a few things while you do that.”
He tossed it to her. “Need money?”
She shook her head and smiled.
Darin was done by the time she came back. He was laying his clothes on the radiator, trying to dry them out, a towel wrapped about his waist. She hurried in and shut the door, a couple of bags in her hands, and stared at him in his towel.
“It’s just until my clothes dry,” he said. “Shower’s all yours.”
She tossed the bags on the bed.
“I kept hearing that crying while I was in there,” he said. “It’s freaking me out.”
“I hear it when I’m alone, too,” she rooted around in one of the bags, pulled a package out and tossed it to him. “Here you go. I got you some pajamas.”
He caught it. “They have pajamas at convenience stores?”
“They do in the ones that are right off the interstate, it seems. They have nearly everything, for travelers. Like us.”
“No pictures of funny animals on them, right?”
“They didn’t have that kind in your size, or I would have bought those in a heartbeat. I also got toothbrushes, bottled water and snacks.”
“I hope you didn’t buy makeup.”
“I did, only found out after I left. I tossed it in the garbage can. Freaky.”
“Freaky is right.”
“I, uh, I didn’t buy any underwear for you, though. I didn’t … know what size. That you wear, I mean, underwear, I just …”
“I’m going to plead the fifth on that myself. It’s cool, the pajamas are enough.”
He ripped the package open. Pulled out the pajama pants and pulled them on, keeping the towel on as he jumped into them. Unwrapped the towel and hung that on the radiator with his clothes. He pulled out the top, which was a dark flannel pattern. He noticed her staring at him.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said and headed for the bathroom. “We’re only sleeping here. Sleeping. Don’t get any ideas.”
“I’m against ideas. It’s funny. I haven’t worn pajamas since I was a kid.”
“What do you wear to bed?” she asked from the bathroom as she turned the shower on.
“T-shirt and shorts. Or sweatpants in the winter. Never pajamas. You?”
“Uh, yeah, I wear pajamas.”
“Ah. So I’m the freak.”
“Clearly.”
“You wear the kind of pajamas with the feet on them?”
“Footies. If they made them in my size, I would.”
Valerie tossed her wet clothes out of the bathroom. She kept the door cracked open, slightly, so she could keep talking to him. Darin was painfully aware tha
t she was in the shower, just on the other side of that door, and tried to think of other things. He rooted through the bag and got a bottle of water. He sat in a chair. Steam billowed out of the bathroom. “Talk to me. I don’t want to be alone in here with just the sound of that crying bridge.”
“Okay. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Why the Beatles? I mean, I get that they’re great and all that, but you kinda listen to nothing else, you know?”
“They were my mom’s favorite.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. I listen to them because they remind me of her. When I was little, she used to sing their songs to me all the time, she loved them. When she was sick, near the end, I’d sing them to her, all night. I don’t know if she heard me. I hope she did. The nurses said she did, but I don’t know. I mean, they’ll say anything as long as it makes you feel better.”
“Was your mom sick for a long time?”
“She was, I guess, she just didn’t know it, so for us it was fast. They found the cancer way too late. For me, it seemed like one day she was there like she always was, the next day she was in the hospital in critical care. She did a week of chemo and that was fucking horrible, she couldn’t walk, lost her hair and a bunch of weight and just spent all day and night puking. They were supposed to do three more rounds of it, but after the first round her kidneys started failing and things started to go wrong. They decided they wouldn’t be able to continue with the chemo until they figured out what else was wrong, and they also said that if they put her on dialysis to help her kidneys, it might kill her because her immune system was compromised because of the chemo.
“We were damned if we do, damned if we don’t, but we didn’t know it. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I think they knew ahead of time that anything they did wasn’t gonna help her at all. They just didn’t want to tell us, or her, that there was no hope, no hope at all. She was complaining and angry and … scared. I’d never seen my mom scared, and she was scared.