Hobbled

by John Inman

  And even if the lady looked as terrified as this one.

  DANNY had never seen his neighbor, Mrs. Trumball, this up close and personal. It was a little disconcerting, to tell the truth. He was more used to seeing her from three houses away, in the dark, dumping old gin bottles in the trash when she thought no one was watching. And she certainly didn’t think anyone was watching her through binoculars, as Danny always did. Danny didn’t figure she would be too thrilled if she knew about that.

  This close, Mrs. Trumball was a sight to behold. She truly was. Her hair was dyed a horrific DayGlo red, but not lately, it seemed, since a good inch of gray regrowth could be seen snuggled up to her scalp. The rest of her hair, which looked as dry as toast, was wrapped around wire hair rollers with a nasty looking plastic pin that was a good four inches long stabbing each one into place like a rapier. One lone roller, somewhere at the crown of her head, had disappeared entirely, and a perfect red S of foot-long hair flapped around every time she moved. There were split ends all over that flapping red S of hair. Danny was sorely tempted to recommend a conditioner. Then he thought, How gay is that?

  Mrs. Trumball’s age was pretty much indeterminable. She could have been forty. She could have been eighty. The wrinkles in her face were etched deep by several layers of make-up, which seemed to have been continually reapplied but never actually removed. Talk about clogged pores. Her eyes were as gray as the roots of her hair. And just as sad. Her lipstick was a screamingly bright red and came remarkably close to matching her hair. It had bled at the corners of her mouth, making her look a little like the Joker in the latest Batman movie.

  The woman’s housecoat was pink and faded and had little roses all over it, along with a goodly crop of lint nubbins. Her slippers, as previously noted, were pink and faded and had big fat rabbit ears sticking off the toes, limp with age. There was also a little rabbit nose perched on the end of one of the woman’s slippers with two felt rabbit teeth hanging underneath it. The nose on the other foot seemed to have disappeared along with the hair roller, although the two felt rabbit teeth were still sewn on, making that rabbit look a little incomplete. Like the Cheshire cat on his way out.

  Years of guzzling gin had taken a toll. Overall, the impression Mrs. Trumball would probably convey at first glance was one of abject uncertainty. Shy. Battered down. Inconsequential. And that of a raging alcoholic.

  But not tonight. Tonight she looked damn near sober. Terrified people usually do.

  The first words out of her mouth made Danny question that assessment. Maybe she wasn’t sober after all, seeing as how she wasn’t making much sense. She was certainly terrified, however. Nothing would change Danny’s mind about that.

  “Evil,” she said, in a breathless little whisper. “It’s here.” She cast her eyes at the kitchen windows, one after the other, obviously expecting to see satanic faces peeking in. She aimed her gray, terrified eyes back to Danny, then to Luke, who was still standing by the table, too surprised to move.

  Finally, Luke snatched up a fleck of civility and pulled out another chair. “Here,” he said. “Have a seat.”

  The woman ignored the offer. She turned her eyes back to Danny.

  “The boys are gone. I saw them sneaking around earlier but now they’re gone. DeVon and Bradley.” A tiny smile wrinkled the corners of her eyes. “They come by for cupcakes sometimes. I make them the way boys like them, with lots and lots of icing. And a cherry sometimes, stuck on the top. A maraschino cherry. Just for fun, you know? The boys are my friends. But now they’re gone. I tried to call the police and tell them, but they won’t listen to me anymore. They shoo me away like I’m nuts. I’ve been trying to tell them about the evil for weeks and weeks, you know? The evil living right here in the neighborhood. But they just won’t listen. I guess I’ve called them too many times. Now I’m just a pest.” She looked down at her hands, turning them over and over in front of her like she had never seen them before in her life. Her hands looked fragile, Danny noted. Fragile and pale and small. Then she dropped them back to her sides and gazed again at Danny’s face. “I might be a pest, but I’m not nuts. I’m scared. Scared for my friends.”

  “What happened to them?” Danny asked, although he thought maybe he already knew. God, he hoped not.

  “The evil man took them. I knew he would. I tried to tell the boys not to run around the neighborhood like they do at all hours of the night. Sneaking out of their houses. Playing at being detectives. They wouldn’t listen. Nobody listens to me.” Then she jerked her head to the side, startled at seeing Granger for the first time as he stood there staring at her. She studied Granger for a couple of heartbeats, and now seemed to find it necessary to explain things to him. “I’m really not nuts. I’m just—not well. And I’m not stupid either. It’s the police that are stupid. I’ve called them a hundred times. They won’t even take my calls anymore.”

  She narrowed her eyes and muttered something that Danny thought might not be appropriate to mutter over crumpets at high tea. Mrs. Trumball seemed to have a very low opinion indeed of the San Diego Police Department. Glancing down at the police monitor on his ankle, Danny had to face the fact he pretty much shared the same opinion.

  It was Luke who cut to the chase. “What do you want us to do?” he asked.

  Mrs. Trumball gazed on Luke’s face the way Danny sometimes did. Appreciative of its beauty. Touched by its sweetness.

  She stepped forward and took Luke’s hand in both of hers. Her eyes bored so deeply into Luke’s, he almost flinched at the intensity of them.

  “Find them,” Mrs. Trumball said. “Find them and take them home. The boys. Find them.”

  “We don’t know where they live,” Luke said.

  She expelled an impatient puff of air. “Then bring them to me, and I’ll take them home.”

  Danny stepped forward and laid a hand on Luke’s shoulder. Mrs. Trumball smiled shyly when he did. She knows, Danny thought. She knows we’re lovers.

  Together, Danny and Luke faced this odd woman with the haunted eyes, but it was Luke who finally asked the pertinent question.

  “Where are they?” he asked. “Who took them?”

  Mrs. Trumball laid a pale hand to her breast. It fluttered there like a dying bird. Danny could smell the fear on the woman even from where he stood. Fear, perfume, and gin. The three scents did not mix well.

  “You know who took them,” she said in a fierce whisper, reaching out and laying cold fingertips to Luke’s cheek. “You saw him tonight yourself. He was in your house. I saw him run away.” She slid her fingers along Luke’s jawline until they brushed his injured ear. “He hurt you. I’m sorry.”

  Luke stepped back just enough to remove her cold fingers from his face. They felt awful. Damp and icy. And his ear was too damned sore to be sympathized with. Plus, there was something about the smell of the woman Luke did not like. Something feral. Like maybe, on top of everything else, she was a little lax in the feminine hygiene department.

  Luke scraped his palm along his cheek to erase the feel of her touch. “Don’t you think it would be better to let the police handle it? It’s their job and—and besides, why should we risk our lives just because the police are too stupid to listen to you?”

  The smile she suddenly aimed at Luke was as cold as her fingertips. She looked like a poker player holding four aces and suddenly not afraid for everyone to know it.

  She gave a tiny shrug, as if to say Luke should be able to figure that out for himself.

  “But why should we do this?” Danny insisted, starting to get mad. Starting to feel a little put-upon here.

  Mrs. Trumball merely studied his angry expression, like an entomologist might study a bug. “Because they’re your friends too. And because it’s the right thing to do. And you boys know it is. And also because you two are the only ones who know I’m not crazy.”

  Danny and Luke shared a look, and somehow they both knew what the woman had said was true. They would have to help those kids. If th
e cops wouldn’t do it, it might as well be them. They still weren’t convinced she wasn’t crazy though. They’d have to get back to her on that one.

  “And,” Mrs. Trumball added, still staring at Danny’s glower as if she enjoyed seeing someone else mad for a change besides herself. “Because he’s coming after your boyfriend next. I think you know that too.”

  On that happy note she turned and headed for the door. Just before walking through it, she turned one last time. “But don’t worry too much,” she whispered, hands cupped to the sides of her mouth as if the night outside had ears. “Help is on the way.”

  And with that, she split. The door closed behind her with a teeny tiny click.

  Danny imagined the woman standing just outside his door, tugging a flask out of her housecoat pocket and taking a bracing slug of gin before scurrying home through the shadows like a rat.

  Jesus. What a woman.

  “WHAT the hell did she mean when she said help is on the way? What help?” Luke asked, looking powerfully confused. This whole damn night had sucked all the way through from beginning to end. Well, except for the part where Danny was writhing beneath him and coming like Old Faithful. That part was great. “And do you really think I’m going to be the next victim like she said? You don’t believe that, do you, Danny?”

  Danny pulled Luke into his arms and snuggled his neck for a minute.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it because we’re not going to let it happen. But yeah, Luke. I do think the guy that squirted jism all over your underwear is the killer. And I think he’s got the hots for you. And I think that to have the hots for you, he must have met you face-to-face. And the only person in the neighborhood I can think of that you’ve met face-to-face is—”

  “Childers,” Luke said.

  Danny nodded. “Childers.”

  Luke kissed the tender skin under Danny’s ear. He could feel Danny shiver when he did it.

  “So I guess maybe the kids have been right all along about the guy.” Luke said the words like it really pissed him off to have to admit it. All he wanted to do was hop into bed with the man he loved and fool around and then get some sleep and get up and fool around some more. Chasing serial killers wasn’t part of his game plan. Not now. Not ever.

  But those two kids were in danger now. Real danger. He had to try to rescue them.

  Danny could see the wheels turning in Luke’s head. He knew what Luke was thinking, because he was thinking the same thing.

  “Let’s go, then,” Danny said.

  “No,” Luke said, shaking his head like he meant it. “You can’t go. You’ll get yourself in trouble and your dad too. I can sneak over there better on my own anyway. I can sneak over there and look around. If I find the kids, I’ll raise a holy ruckus until the cops come. If I don’t find the kids, I’ll sneak back over here and drag your beautiful body back to bed and stick my tongue up your ass. Deal?”

  “No,” Danny hissed, sounding fiercely determined. “You’re not going anywhere without me. I won’t let you. Now help me get this damn thing off my ankle.” He bent down and took a grip on the ankle monitor, trying to figure out how it attached. Then he looked back up at Luke looking down at him. “Although I like your idea about sticking your tongue in my ass. Maybe we can keep those plans on hold for later.”

  “You’re nuts,” Luke said.

  Danny grinned. “Yeah, well, so are you. And if we pull this rescue off, we’ll be heroes. Just think of the stories we’ll have to tell our grandchildren.”

  Luke rolled his eyes. “We’re gay. We won’t have any grandchildren.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  At that very moment, they heard the bang and rattle of the pet door swinging open on the service porch.

  “Fucking cat,” Danny said.

  Luke made a face. “That’s an awful lot of noise for a cat. Cats are quiet and sneaky. That sounds more like a rhinoceros.”

  They pushed open the door leading to the service porch to check it out. Danny flicked on the overhead light and they just stood there staring. Speechless. Both of them.

  DeVon’s head and shoulders were poking through the pet door. “Howdy,” he said, when he saw he had an audience. “How about a hand? I think I’m just about stuck in this fucking thing.”

  Danny stepped forward, grabbed DeVon’s paw and pulled him on through, nearly scraping off the kid’s pants in the process.

  While DeVon pulled his trousers back up, dusted himself off, and looked proud as punch for some unfathomable reason, Bradley stuck his head through the pet flap right behind him. This time Danny waved him back out and opened the back door for him instead. Just to simplify matters.

  “Thanks,” Bradley said. “That pet door is a nuisance. It’s too damn little.”

  “It’s for a cat!” Danny growled. He started tapping his foot, the one without the cast, just like his mother used to do when she was getting good and fed up with his shenanigans. Danny stopped the foot tapping the minute he realized he was copying the woman. But that didn’t mean he still couldn’t be sarcastic. “And why the hell aren’t you guys being held captive like you’re supposed to be. Mrs. Trumball said the killer had your asses in lockup, and we had to rescue you. We were just about to do that. Pretty soon. When we got around to it. Eventually.”

  DeVon could be sarcastic too. “Pretty soon? Eventually? My black ass. We could have been dead by now.”

  “Yeah,” Bradley echoed. “Dead. My ass is white, by the way.”

  DeVon giggled and punched him in the ribs.

  Luke bent forward and aimed a finger at Bradley’s sternum. “Why aren’t you kids home in bed where you belong?”

  Bradley yanked a lint-covered licorice whip from his back pocket and stuffed it in his mouth. “My folks think I’m sleeping over at DeVon’s.”

  “Yeah,” DeVon added. “And my folks think I’m sleeping over at Bradley’s.”

  Luke grabbed both kids’ shirtfronts and pulled them close. “Not the brightest parents in the world, are they?”

  “Nope,” Bradley said.

  “And that’s the way we like it,” DeVon chipped in with a grin.

  “Guess I would too,” Luke said, releasing them with a friendly poke in both their bellies.

  Danny grabbed Luke’s arm to get his attention. His face was lit up like someone had just hit it with the high beams. “Now we don’t have to go. Now we can do what you said earlier. You know.” And he stuck his tongue out and wiggled it around.

  Luke grinned. But his grin died a pretty quick death when Bradley kicked the door out of sheer peevishness, or so it appeared.

  “None of that homo shit, boys. We got work to do. The rescue is still on, you know. Nothing has changed. It’s just that the rescuee is different than who you thought it was going to be.”

  “Why?” Danny asked. “You’re both here. We’re both here. Who the hell else is there left to rescue?”

  “Charlie,” DeVon said. “I think he’s still alive. Charlie Strickland. Remember him?”

  “Shit,” Luke said. “The guy on the news. The cute blond.”

  “Yeah,” DeVon snorted. “Thought that would get your attention.”

  “So where is he?” Danny asked.

  Bradley shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  Luke leaned in and stuck his finger in Bradley’s chest. This time he didn’t do it quite so nicely. “What do you mean you don’t know? How are we supposed to rescue somebody if we don’t know where he’s at?”

  “He’s close,” DeVon explained. “We just don’t know exactly where Childers has him stashed. But the guy’s in trouble. We heard him cry out again about an hour ago. So he’s close. And he’s hurting. Don’t forget he’s already lost a finger.” He started slapping his pants pockets. “I’ve still got it here somewhere.”

  Danny held his hand in the air like a traffic cop. “Spare us. I’ve already seen the damn thing. That was a day ago, and it was ripe then.”

  This t
ime Bradley’s face lit up. “Yeah, well, you should smell it now. I had to spray it with Glade to keep the smell down.”

  Danny glared at the kid as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “That’s sick. That’s just sick.”

  While Bradley merely shrugged, DeVon jumped into the fray. “So you guys ready? Or would you maybe want to get dressed first? This isn’t a gay pride parade, you know. It’s a rescue mission. And put some shoes on. God knows where we’ll end up.”

  Danny snickered at the parade remark while Luke just looked pissed. Without saying a word, they both turned to the pile of dirty laundry on top the dryer and sifted through it until they found a couple of T-shirts. Dirty, wrinkled, mildewy T-shirts. They slipped them over their heads. They ignored the suggestion about the shoes. Luke didn’t know where his were, and Danny only needed one anyway.

  Danny grabbed the baseball bat, and Luke said, “That’s mine.”

  Danny rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He opened a junk drawer and pulled out a hammer.

  “No, I want that,” Luke said.

  Danny laughed and handed him the hammer while Luke surrendered the baseball bat.

  It was DeVon’s turn to tap his foot. “Whenever you girls are finished swapping weapons and sorting through the laundry, we’ll just be going then, okay?”

  Luke hefted the hammer like he couldn’t wait to try it out on somebody’s head. Maybe DeVon’s. “Let’s rumble,” he said, hoping he sounded butch, but apparently he hadn’t.

  As soon as DeVon and Bradley were finished doubling up and laughing at his “rumble” remark, and not very charitably either, the kids ushered Luke and Danny out the back door. Since stealth would be required, poor Granger was left behind to whimper in the kitchen. He couldn’t be trusted to remain silent in a pinch. Most dogs can’t, and everybody there knew it.

  On the back stoop, Danny and Luke lagged behind long enough to discuss one more pressing matter left hanging. The ankle monitor.

  They stood looking down at it like maybe it was going to explode or something. The little flashing green light was annoying as hell. Unfortunately, they both knew that a flashing red light would be even more annoying.